


Sinker

by UnmovingGreatLibrary



Category: Touhou Project
Genre: Drowning, F/F, Gen, Ghosts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-04
Packaged: 2021-01-16 16:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21274484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnmovingGreatLibrary/pseuds/UnmovingGreatLibrary
Summary: Murasa's ancient past has come back to haunt her, in the form of recurring nightmares about sinking ships and drowning sailors. When they start becoming a bit too real, Mamizou proposes a simple solution: A quick trip outside Gensokyo to visit the sea and confront whatever is trying to reawaken her killer instincts.The hard part is solving the mystery before it succeeds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off: if the title/summary didn't give it away, Murasa's history of drowning folks is kind of a central _thing_ here. If you're uneasy with that sort of thing, this may not be the fanfic for you.
> 
> Second, because I just know somebody out there is already going 'um, actually, Murasa is the name of the doctor, you're thinking of Minamitsu's Monster'*****: As far as I can tell, 'Minamitsu' isn't even _spoken_ in UFO. She pretty much solely refers to herself as Murasa, and other people refer to her as Captain Murasa or 'the captain.' Makes sense, considering that 'Murasa' was the only name she had when Byakuren rescued her. So, for the purpose of this fic, I've mostly treated Murasa as the name she goes by, with Minamitsu being a new name Byakuren gave her so she'd have the traditional pair.
> 
> Third, Lailah provided beta reading this time around, so you can thank her for about half a dozen egregious errors that are no longer here.
> 
> Finally, there's some light sexual harassment-y stuff in chapter 2, so also be forewarned if that kind of thing makes you uneasy.
> 
> ***** I know because I used to be that person.

Night watch was one of the least glamorous jobs around.

At least, tonight it was. The ship had left the mainland behind before sunset. In these winds, they wouldn't approach Tsushima until the morning. That cut both ways, though—any pirate who wanted to approach them would be doing so at a crawl, and they'd have plenty of time to raise the alarm. The weather promised to remain pleasant, and the ship was in good repair. There was nothing to do but stay awake, scan the horizon occasionally, and check the ship's heading now and then.

So, the two men played cards.

Neither of them knew the name of the game, and their grasp of the rules was only slightly better. The deck had come from some foreign port, and nobody could read the cards, let alone guess what each one meant. With enough boredom and alcohol, though, sailors could gamble on almost anything.

“I've got, uh...” One of them tossed two cards into the pile in the middle. “Tigers. Nine of 'em.”

“Too bad.” The other leaned over, steadying himself with one hand, and slapped his card down on top of the others. “Mine's got writing on it.” After keeping the card pinned there for long enough to make a point, he started scooping up his winnings.

“Who decided the cards with nothin' but writing are worth the most?”

“S'only natural. Has to be scriptures or something. Best to be careful, dealing with things like that.”

“You're only saying that because—“

A deep, seismic groan rumbled through the ship, cutting him off. They both jerked upright, looking around for the source of the sound. None presented itself.

“Th' hell was that?”

“Ran aground, maybe?”

“Shouldn't be any shoals that shallow 'round here.”

“Don't hear you giving any other explanation.” The man pushed himself up to get a better view. “If it's...” His gaze settled onto something beyond the railing, and he trailed off, the color draining from his face.

The other looked up at him, uneasy. “What's got into you?”

“Uh. You should... you should maybe see for yourself.”

Grumbling, the other hauled himself upright, with a crackle of abused joints. He, too, was stricken with amazed silence.

The sea was glowing. A pale white light danced just beneath the surface, seeming to leech the color from everything it illuminated. It roiled slowly, like boiling syrup, folding into itself and then bulging back out. It stretched dozens of meters away from the ship, and a quick glance around was enough to confirm that it was on all sides of them. Whatever the thing was, the ship had sailed right into its center.

Or, _it_ had come to _them_.

“What... d'you think it is?”

The second man didn't answer, but took a fearful step back from the railing. “I heard of something like this. The sea, when it starts glowing and comes alive. Old-timers say you have to get a pole and stab it, don't let up until it learns to leave you alone.”

“Sounds like a good way to piss it off, you ask me.”

The ship groaned again. This time, it was more forceful: a deep, shuddering noise that rattled their bones and echoed in their chests. It nearly knocked them off their feet, and they latched onto the railing for support.

The light beneath the ocean was moving with purpose now. It was moving _toward_ them, contracting inward like a pool of water going down a drain. Here and there, ethereal wisps drifted above the water's surface, coiling like tentacles before they dissipated.

“I'll get a pole!” said the first man, hurrying toward the stern. “You keep an eye on it or somethin', we'll give it a few stabs and—“

He stumbled to a stop. There, in front of him, a solid mass of light was bulging up through the deck. It rose slowly, then came to a stop, pulling more of its bulk up from the sea. It began taking shape. As it grew more solid, the light faded and the thing sank into shadows. Right at the end there, though, he could swear he'd seen the outline of a head.

He stared at the spot where it had been, agape. He could feel it staring back.

“W-who, who's there?! Get out here n' present yourself!” He shouted into the darkness.

A low creak ran through the ship. It, somehow, carried a hint of laughter.

A dim green light sizzled into being in front of him. It blurred side to side with a shrill hum, and he got the briefest glimpse of a figure before the intruder disappeared.

The sailor whirled around, looking for any sign of where the thing had gone. In the dark, the ship suddenly looked alien, the silhouettes of spars and ropes forming a skeletal jungle overhead.

“Spread out!” his companion shouted from behind him. He didn't dare to look back, though. He was afraid of what might come out of the darkness if he weren't watching it. “It's just a stowaway, or, or pirates or somethin'! Don't let it get to your head!”

They didn't get much of a chance to search. The distinct _plop_ of something breaching the water came from below. Something thumped, heavily, against the side of the hull.

It was followed by a slow, wet dragging noise. Another thump confirmed what they had already suspected: Whatever was down there, it was pulling itself up the side of the ship.

Both men whirled toward the sound. The closer of the two crept backward, shrinking away until he was nearly out of the lantern's light. Slowly, one thump at a time, the thing moved higher along the ship's hull.

A pale hand reached up past the edge of the deck. It effortlessly pulled the rest of its body up behind it.

The first impression of it: Black, stringy, drenched hair. It was plastered to the thing's head, obscuring most of its face. What little skin was visible glowed with a sickly light. One eye stared out, blank and searching. Its mouth was spread in a smile, just a bit too wide, and only darkness was visible within.

“Get, get off! Get out of here!” One bellowed, scrambling backward. “Who the hell _are_ you?!”

It seemed like the creature had anticipated this question. It tilted its head, almost thoughtfully. Dim green fire billowed from its eyes. From somewhere far, far below, as if the ocean itself were speaking, came an answer: "**MU. RA. SA.**"

Again, it was limned in green light. Its form jittered side to side, blurring. With a low hum, it faded away, vanishing into the night again.

“Still think it's a stowaway?!”

“Shut your mouth and grab something to defend yourself!” The light jostled wildly across the deck as the first man scooped up the lantern, prepared to use it as a weapon.

“We should get below decks. Or jump off.” The other was stepping back now, putting distance between himself and the spirit's last location, but too frightened to look away. “Some kind of ghost who has it out for sailors, I reckon, and—“

His foot bumped against something in the dark. Knocked off balance, he fell backward.

Whatever he'd tripped over was cold, wet, and soft. As he landed, he saw it next to him—a figure, pale and drenched with water, dimly glowing. It leaned forward, its eyes fixated on him through their wreath of green flame. A hand reached out. Paralyzed with terror, he couldn't bring himself to move away. It brought the scent of the ocean with it—the _deep_ ocean, brine and rot and things you fished up and then threw back, swearing never to speak of them again. The hand settled onto his shoulder with a wet smack.

It pulled itself closer.

It... _it_ was a _she_. A young woman. She was pretty, or had been pretty once. Her skin was a wholly unhealthy washed-out pale color, her eyes were glazed, and her clothes were rotting tatters, but she looked remarkably intact, considering. She leaned in.

“A LADLE.” She sighed the word out.

He was frozen in place, not daring to twitch. Even so, he couldn't stop himself from blurting out, “W-what?”

“GIVE ME A LADLE.” She sounded mournful. Almost frightened.

He looked up to the other sailor, desperate for help. “What are you doin' standing there?! Get this girl a ladle!”

“No, no, I heard of this. You have to say no, can't give her one or she'll drown us all.”

Her head turned, with a wet popping of vertebrae. She shot a baleful glance toward him, followed by a low sigh that seemed to rumble in the ship's timbers and stir the sail. She reached inside her ragged clothes and pulled out: a ladle.

“THEN...” She trailed off, like making a sentence even this complex was difficult for her. “I'LL HAVE TO USE MY OWN.”

A wet, soft chuckle. And, she vanished again, in another green blur.

“Please!” The sailor who'd been standing now flung himself to the deck, looking wildly into the darkness. “Please, don't do this! We'll give you offerings when we get back to the shore, we'll never sail again, whatever you want!”

“Build you a shrine!” the second added, scrambling away from the puddle where she'd been kneeling over him.

“Just, just leave us, and we'll do anything you want, an'—“

This time, they could see as she reappeared. It was like her process of vanishing in reverse, a green blur in the air, shuddering with eye-straining speed, suffused with green light and an unsettling hum. When it stopped, there she was, hovering above the deck.

They both immediately went quiet. Even the sea seemed to go calm.

In the silence, they could hear sound from belowdecks. The rest of the crew was awake, and they were hammering on the door. They were trapped down there, somehow. Help would not be coming.

She tilted her head, seeming to consider the offer. “ANYTHING?”

“Yes!” the first sailor practically squealed. “Anything you want! We'll do it, just spare us, let us go and—“

“THEN... JOIN ME.”

She stretched her arm out, holding the ladle in the air. And, for a moment, she kept it there. Like she was waiting to see if they'd try to stop her. Like she was taunting them, well aware that they couldn't.

She upended her ladle. Water burst out. It seemed like more than could possibly fit through such a small hole, a hundred buckets worth, slamming into the deck so hard that the entire ship rebounded from the impact. Water rushed across the surface like a tidal wave, and the flow was only increasing. Soon, the force knocked their feet out from under them, pushing them implacably across the deck.

The spirit stared down at them, watching them tumble and claw for purchase. She studied them with dispassionate interest, like she was trying to remember something. Without looking away, she raised her free hand overhead. An anchor, as wide as she was tall and far too heavy for any one person to lift, appeared in her grip.

She slammed it into the deck. It splintered the wood like it was paper. The entire ship bucked beneath them, then lurched as the hull, too, was breached.

Water poured in: a roar louder than any storm, with the force of an avalanche. The crew below were helpless to resist it. It pressed in around them, dark and cold. It knocked them off their feet, battered them, dragged them toward the darkness below. In that moment, the water was her, her hands, strangling the life out of one man after another. She could feel their last breaths bubbling out of them.

She was horrified. She wanted to stop, _wanted_ to make this right somehow, but there was no going back. And, at the same time, she cackled into the night sky, delighted, each death fueling her and adding to her legend, and—

A shove to her stomach jolted her awake. She flailed in blind confusion.

“Murasa!” The hand tugged on her shirt, holding her in place. “Murasa, calm down!”

She opened her eyes, squinting against the light.

It took a moment to realize where she was. She was in her bedroom, the former captain's quarters of the palanquin ship turned Myouren Temple. The view was an unfamiliar one, though, because she was hovering near the ceiling.

Ankle-deep seawater covered the floor. Everything in sight was _soaked_. That included Ichirin, standing in the middle of the whole mess, still holding Murasa's shirt. Her yukata was threatening to fall off of her, too sodden to stay on.

Ichirin gently pulled Murasa down, until her feet landed in a pile of soaking pillows with a firm squish. Her arms wrapped around Murasa, pulling her into a hug, and she kissed the side of her neck. “Just relax, okay? It was a dream. Just a dream.”

Murasa stared out at the flooded room with stunned detachment. “I... guess it happened again, huh?”

* * *

“That makes four times this month,” Byakuren said. As usual, her voice didn't contain a trace of accusation, only concern. In some ways, that just made it worse. “Meditation hasn't helped, then?”

“I don't think so,” Murasa half-fibbed. She didn't meditate _quite_ as often as the head monk probably thought she did, but what she'd done hadn't helped at all.

“I see. That's a shame...”

Seated in front of Byakuren and Shou, Murasa couldn't quite help but think of this as a trial of sorts. Ichirin was right behind her, her moral support. And... the room's doors were all shut, but she knew that half of the temple's denizens were eavesdropping outside. She'd done it often enough herself, after all.

“I mean! The palanquin ship's meant to deal with some water now and then. You made her into a temple, but she's still a ship! It goes right down the stairs to the bilge. I'll pump it out myself, no worries _there_.”

“There are a few leaks, actually,” Shou said, with a slight clear of her throat. “Nazrin's room is right below yours, and she doesn't appreciate waking up to rain in the middle of the night.”

“She's around the temple today? Oh, hey, good timing, I've been meaning to ask her about getting some supplies to patch up a few spots, and—“

“It's really obvious when you try to change the subject, you know. No offense.”

Murasa sighed. “Can't blame me for trying, right?”

“We're trying to help you, Minamitsu,” Byakuren said. “There's no need to try to hide things.”

“Right... Look, um. I've kinda got an idea of why this is happening, but you aren't going to like it.”

“I'm sure we won't hold it against you.”

Murasa sighed again, and stared at the floor as she chose her words. “It's... the sea, and sinking boats, and _all_ of that. The way I was before you rescued me. It's like it's calling me or something.”

“Your nature as a youkai,” Shou summarized, sympathetic.

“Right. That.”

“I see. A worldly anchor, trying to pull you back to old habits. I'd chastise you, but since you've managed to resist for a thousand years, I suppose I can let this one slip.” Byakuren offered the slightest smile to hint that it was a joke. 

“It's not, like, a bad habit or something, you know? I might be stuck on land, but... the sea's still a part of me. It's like my leg got cut off and I can still feel it somewhere, and it's starting to get real antsy for me to come back and visit. Or maybe I'm the leg and the sea is—never mind. This metaphor really got away from me. I guess it sounds crazy either way.”

“It sounds entirely reasonable, given your history. If it's part of your nature as a youkai, meditation might not be able to help.” Byakuren sounded reluctant to make that admission. “But then, what would?”

“She could try sinking a boat, maybe?” Ichirin said. “It's a little extreme, but if it gets the job done...”

“An _unoccupied_ boat,” Shou quickly added. “And one that she's paid for.”

“Er, well. Ehe.” Murasa rubbed at the back of her neck and glanced aside. “About that...”

“Captain Murasa,” Shou said, levelly. “Have you already sunk a boat lately?”

“A little one! And it was barely in a meter of water. I hauled the guy who owned it back to the shore, and I'm sure he has some sons who can drag it out or something. A victimless crime, in the big scale of things.”

“We can discuss that later,” Byakuren said, in a sweet voice that promised a long, long lecture to come. “If sinking a boat didn't satisfy the urge, though, we might not be able to. I'm _sure_ that you haven't drowned any humans since this began, after all?”

“No! No drowning.” Murasa sort of drooped even lower. “I promise. I really try not to, these days.”

“We could try... going sailing, maybe?” Ichirin suggested. “There's that big lake behind the Moriya shrine, and Unzan could probably carry a boat up there...”

Murasa grimaced. “That isn't much of a replacement, Ichi. Sailing on a lake instead of the sea is like... I dunno, eating a cracker because you can't afford a loaf of bread.”

“I really doubt the rivers would be any better, then. Where else could we try, though? They say the mansion made a fake sea one time. Maybe—”

“Well, the way I see it, you don't have to settle for an imitation.” The voice, from out of nowhere, interrupted Ichirin. Only after a few seconds did the source become apparent. A lantern near the edge of the room was wobbling back and forth, like a fruit determined to shake itself free from a branch. A furry tail popped out the back, whipping back and forth in time with the swings. Finally, with one especially firm thrust, the lantern launched itself free. It fell to the ground and disappeared into a puff of smoke.

As the smoke cleared, Mamizou stepped out, stretching her back with a few crackles of protesting joints. “You wouldn't believe how much folding it takes to make yourself lantern-sized. Barely any furniture in this place bigger than a cushion. Discriminatory against tanuki, that is.”

“Miss Futatsuiwa.” Byakuren greeted her with a stiff nod. “I'd thank you for joining us, but it seems that you've been here all along.”

“You can still thank me if you'd like, I'm not about to complain. And can't blame me for taking a little interest in this place's affairs, can you? Seeing as how we're practically on the same side and all.”

“We have regular sutra-readings and lectures that are open to the public. If you want to get more involved, maybe you could start with one of those?”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind. Been having some trouble sleeping lately. Now then, seems the captain has an itch for the ocean?”

“Minamitsu has been feeling drawn to it, yes. Did you have a solution in mind?”

“Could be. I'd have to noodle on it a bit.” Mamizou reached for her pipe, then paused. “No smoking in here, is there?”

“I would appreciate it if you didn't.”

“Makes it hard for a lady to think. So, let's see here...” Mamizou stared thoughtfully into the distance, her tail drifting back and forth behind her. “Hmm. Yeah, seems doable. Give me a day or two, we can go see the ocean in person.”

A moment passed. Nobody responded.

Shou cleared her throat. “The actual ocean?”

“What I said, isn't it?”

“You're proposing to take her to the outside world?”

“Sure, why not? Ocean's maybe eight or nine hours from here, and half of that is just getting out of Gensokyo and down to the nearest city. Could do it in a single day if we hurried, but call it two if we dawdle.”

“I appreciate the offer, Miss Futatsuiwa,” Byakuren said, “but don't you think it would be risky? You might have experience at navigating the outside world, but Minamitsu hasn't seen it in a millennium. She might not know how to avoid giving herself away to youkai hunters, or—“

“I wouldn't worry about _that_. I didn't catch hide nor hair of a youkai hunter for a few decades before coming to Gensokyo, and I caused more than my fair share of trouble. A youkai hunter needs youkai to hunt after all, and that hasn't exactly been a growing business.”

“There are still a lot of ways it could go wrong,” Shou said.

“Look, think about it this way. Surviving the outside world's so easy that a few billion humans pull it off every day. The captain's a stout young lass, I'm sure she'll be fine. If you're that worried, that girlfriend of hers can come along too. Call her our team human expert or somesuch.”

“Girl—?!” Ichirin blurted out, too slow to stop herself. “Miss Futatsuiwa, really, Murasa and I like each other, but—“

“But you keep accidentally sleeping together? Ah, I see. Go out for a nighttime stroll, next thing you know you've tripped and fallen face-first under the covers with some cute young thing. Happens all the time.”

Murasa sort of shrank down, acutely aware of Byakuren's sudden gaze on them. Shou shot her a sympathetic smile. They'd sort of had an _arrangement_, where Shou helped cover for some of their not-so-monkish habits in exchange for the reassurance that they'd be open with her. It looked like that might grow a bit more complicated in weeks to come.

“It seems like I'm learning a lot today,” Byakuren said, with the slightest sigh.

“If we didn't go for worldly pleasures now and then, we'd be bodhisattvas by now, right? Just another rock on the path to enlightenment. _So anyway_.” Murasa attempted to shove the conversation along with all the subtlety of a cannonball. She couldn't think of anything more uncomfortable than discussing her love life with Byakuren in a room with practically half of the temple and associated hangers-on. “Going to the ocean, huh? It seems worth a shot.”

“Do you think it would help, though?” Shou asked.

“It stands to reason, doesn't it? I feel like I need to go to the ocean, so if I do it, that should settle things. Even if that isn't the, er, cure, whatever's calling to me, it's _related_ to the ocean. I don't think I'm going to find it in Gensokyo.”

“See?” Mamizou said. “That settles it. Pop outside, take the kid down for a day at the beach, come back to Gensokyo a day or two later. Nobody outside this temple needs to know. Heck, might bring back a few souvenirs from the outside. Make a whole trip out of it.”

Byakuren's eyes drifted shut, and she sat in silent contemplation. Finally, her head dipped in the slightest of nods. “You're right. We shouldn't let our unfounded fears cloud our judgment. If you're offering, Miss Futatsuiwa, then it sounds like this is the best option we have. I'll trust in your experience with the outside world to keep them safe.”

“Nothin' to fret about, I promise. I'll have them back safe and sound before you even realize they've left.” Mamizou turned to look to the two of them. “How's tomorrow morning sound?”

Shou cleared her throat. “Well, er, tomorrow is actually Murasa's turn to clean the courtyard and lead the guided meditation for—”

“Tomorrow sounds good! No time like the present, right? Or, the almost-present, I guess. The longer we wait the more I'm going to flood the temple, and that's no good for anybody. This old girl has a bit of a mildew problem at the best of times.” With the topic thoroughly changed, Murasa slid out of her seated position, stretching as she rose. “Do we need to do anything to get ready?”

“Gensokyo money's no good in the outside world. Half of it's so old that they'd think you're pulling their leg. And...” Mamizou's gaze drifted over them, skeptical. “You'd stick out like a sore thumb if I took you out there in those outfits. Tell you what—leave all the prep work to me. Got an eye for outside world garb, y'see. All you two need to do is meet me outside tomorrow morning, bright and early.”

* * *

“Ahhhh...” Murasa let out a long sigh of relief once they were a few meters down the hall, far enough that she could talk without much worry of Byakuren overhearing them. “That went a lot better than I was expecting. I really figured it would be more of a lecture. You know, that one where she starts off all, 'Please understand that I'm not disappointed in you, I just know that you could do better.' That one?”

“Hmmm, don't think I've heard it,” Ichirin replied.

“Not even that time she found out you and Unzan had won that big barrel of booze down in the village?”

“The whole thing was the woodcutters' idea, and Nazrin was the one who started a fight with them in the first place. I was just an innocent bystander.”

“That seems like pretty good profit for an 'innocent bystander' if you ask me.”

“They were going to be arm-wrestling anyway. I just made it a little more interesting. Besides, I—“

Ichirin was cut off as Nue dipped down from the ceiling above them, dangling from a stairway railing by her knees. “Morning, Mi~na~mi~tsu! Heard you wet the bed again.”

“I told you not to call me that!”

“Forget who you're talking to, kid? I'm the great unknown youkai. Think I'll call you whatever I want.”

“Then maybe I'll call _you_ a piss-blooded lobcock from now on.”

“I'd kick your butt if I had any idea what the heck that meant.”

“Try it and I'll fashion you a noose with yer own guts.”

“Big words for a fish-fucker!”

“That was only the one time, and it was your mom!”

Nue sort of cringed, stifling a snicker at the retort. “Alright, I have to admit that one was pretty good. I'll let you off the hook this time.” She still shot a rude gesture as she pulled herself up onto the stairway and continued toward wherever she was going.

Ichirin stared up at the spot where she'd been, sighing. “You guys really shouldn't do that, you know.”

“It's Nue, you know? It's like our way of saying 'hi.'”

“Do you ever stop and think that maybe this kind of thing is why Miss Hijiri is harsher on you than me?”

“Hey, I'll have you know that I'm a model of good behavior, apart from that. So, anyway...” Murasa snagged the corner as they turned down a hallway, heading toward the living quarters. “What about the old man, though? We can't take him with us, right? Me or you can slip into new clothes and pass as a human, but I don't think they make them that pink these days.”

“I'll... just have to convince him. He knows that I can take care of myself. He'll be grumpy, but I don't think he'll make a big deal about it. Maybe I'll treat it like a vacation from guarding me.”

“I mean more about you. You guys haven't been apart for long in centuries, right? Are you going to be alright, spending a few days away from him? _Obviously_ the charming company will help, but... I can see where it'd be kind of rough on you too. I guess what I'm saying is, you don't have to come along for this if you don't want to, you know? Me and Mamizou are big kids, we can make it to the sea all by ourselves, and _probably_ nothing will happen, so—”

Ichirin tilted her head with a bit of a smirk. “What, you don't want me along?”

“No! No, it isn't anything like that.”

“Good. Then I'm coming.” Ichirin gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “This is a big deal for you. I want to be there, even if I can't do anything but hold your hand afterward.”

“E-ehe. Well, I don't know if it's going to be all that _romantic_...” Reaching the door of her room, Murasa opened it with a push. “... jeez, I should probably do some cleaning before I leave.”

It had only been an hour or so, and everything was still soaked. The sudden burst of water had shoved most of the room's contents up against the walls. There was still a standing puddle on the floor, tapering off out into the hallway, with a light crust of salt around its edges. The sad thing was, this had already happened a few times. She'd learned all the best ways to clean her things and air out the room.

It needed it. The air smelled like seawater.

No. Not just seawater. When people said that word, they usually meant tame little waves, lapping up against the beach. This was something more. This was water fresh from the deep sea, hundreds of meters down. Water that hadn't seen a fresh beam of sunlight in months. Probably, no human would ever be able to tell the difference, but to her, it was as clear as night and day. This water had seen a billion generations of life fight and die before the first human had ever opened their eyes. It was the world's biggest graveyard, and it would never be satisfied. It was cold. It was dark. It was _hostile_ to these feeble creatures of the surface, with their barely-pressurized bodies and their flimsy lungs.

It wanted nothing more than to drag them down and crush the life out of them.

It would be _beautiful_. She could imagine somebody twitching through their last through convulsions in her hands, bubbles slipping from their mouth as barely-visible distortions in the darkness, the warmth seeping out from their body and—

Ichirin was pinching her nose.

“Ow, hey, what's that about?!” Murasa recoiled, rubbing it.

“You were staring at the water and sort of... zoning out. Like this morning.”

“I guess I was, huh...”

Murasa poked at the puddle of water with the tip of her foot. It was, once again, just water. She'd felt it, though. Like an anchor, trying to drag her away from all of this and back down into the sea. And she'd slipped into it so easily. She hadn't even _noticed_. If Ichirin hadn't been here...

Actually, no. Some of the worst-case scenarios involved Ichirin.

Ichirin slipped an arm behind her back, half-supporting her and trying to hide her concern. “You're sure you're okay? Mamizou said that it would only take eight hours to get to the ocean. Maybe if we left now and hurried—“

“No, no, I'm fine.” Ichirin didn't believe her, she could tell. So, she repeated, “I'm fine, okay? Just a little momentary relapse or something. … look, I'll sleep outside tonight, so if this happens again then the water will just, I don't know, end up in the garden or something.”

“The water isn't what I was worried about.”

“I'll be _fine_ Ichi, okay? In a day or two we'll be at the ocean and we'll feel silly we ever made a big deal about this. Here.” She shuffled through the puddle, over to the corner of the room. The flood earlier had knocked down a nightstand, and now she righted it and slipped the drawer open. It was stuffed, but the contents were carefully arranged—prayer beads and books of sutras in the front, with the contents behind them sorted based on how much she wanted to hide them from the temple's authority figures. All the way in the back was a fist-sized bottle, which she carefully extracted. After giving it a single longing glance, she chucked it over to Ichirin. “Take that.”

Ichirin snatched the flask out of the air, then held it up, swishing the amber contents around in the light. “What is it?”

“It's whiskey. _Really_ strong stuff, probably older than any human in Gensokyo. I won it in a game of cards a while back. Give it to the old man, okay? As, like... my apology or whatever, for taking you away for a few days.”

Ichirin undid the cap and took a sniff, then recoiled. “Ew. I'll leave it for him, I think. I bet he'll appreciate it, but... are you sure? This stuff has to be expensive.”

“Hey, look. There isn't anything I can really give _you_ as thanks, so... you know. It's the best I can do.”

“I can think of a few things.” Ichirin slipped the flask away, and it disappeared into her robe. “I'm going to go talk with him though, I think. Try to relax, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I'll see you later. Love you.”

“Love you too.” Ichirin blew a kiss before stepping away from the door.

With a sigh, Murasa turned and started hauling her waterlogged belongings out of the seawater, trying to ignore the memories it was trying to tug to the surface.


	2. Chapter 2

Murasa had known about trains for about twenty minutes now, and she was already offended by the entire concept.

“So, let me get this straight,” she said, tugging on one of the many hanging straps on the ceiling. “These tracks go all over the country, you can get anywhere in a day or so, and they pretty much never wreck or anything?”

“That's the long and short of it,” Mamizou said.

“Where's the fun in that?! Travel's supposed to be about, like, wandering off to discover what's over the horizon, or stumbling onto spots nobody's seen before. You know, dramatic! Plus, it's not real traveling if there's no risk to it, if you ask me. You've gotta have room for weird ghost stories about people who set off toward the next town and were never seen again, or it's hardly even worth doing.”

“If I had to guess, huma—er, most people,” Ichirin quickly caught her mistake, “probably don't think that the chance of dying is a bonus.”

“That's just what makes it romantic! And I bet they don't even _have_ train chanties. A real waste.”

“You've got me there.” Mamizou glanced to the side. The other passengers in the car were shooting them some very concerned looks. “... now, c'mere, girls. Let's move down this way so we stop botherin' these nice folks with our conversation.”

“Oh, hey, sorry about that.” Murasa shot them a cheerful wave, then followed along as Mamizou led the way to the back of the train car. _Clear_ to the back, until they were nearly pressed up against the wall.

“... real subtle about this whole 'I'm a youkai' thing, aren't you, cap?”

“Hey, you said that nobody out here believes in youkai anymore, right? So it should be fine.”

“Eh, folks don't believe, that's true. The stories still circulate a bit, but most folks don't give them a second thought. Probably don't even think twice about youkai when they're out at night.”

“So if nobody believes in youkai at all... heeeeyyy... There's no reason we had to walk all the way down that mountain, was there? We could just fly back up on the return trip. Even if somebody saw us, they'd just think we were hermits or something. They've got to still have hermits, right?”

“'fraid not. Chin up, kiddo. You've got at least a day before we have to do that again.”

Murasa sighed. “It was worth a shot.”

The walk _had_ been grueling. The border of Gensokyo, at least the spot where they'd come out, was kilometers from civilization and halfway up a mountainside. Nothing too steep, fortunately, but making their way down had still taken a few hours, and another hour or two of walking through civilization to get to the train station.

And the whole way...

Ichirin had warned her about it, but she hadn't quite understood until she'd felt it herself. It was different out here. Something about the spiritual atmosphere. It was like being suffocated while, at the same time, being dissected. This was a world where nobody believed in youkai, and if they did, they'd want to pin them down, categorize them, _define_ them. It had felt overwhelming at first, but had now receded into a soft buzz at the back of her head.

But, modern civilization: Pretty fancy. Everyone seemed really clean and healthy. Almost everyone in sight was casually draped in luxuries like perfume and tobacco. There were flameless lights all over the place, and this train, she would begrudgingly admit, was faster than any ship she'd ever seen.

The clothes were pretty comfy, too. Her Modern Human disguise, the outfit that Mamizou had procured for her, was a fluffy blue sweater and some sort of baggy white pants. She'd sort of cursed the top for its warmth during the walk down the mountain, but now that she was holding still, it wasn't too bad. Plus, the pants had pockets. She stuffed her hands into them, in what she liked to think was a pretty cool look.

Ichirin had a pair of track pants and a baggy sweatshirt with one big weird pocket on the front. Murasa suspected it was the more comfortable outfit, but she was fine with that. Besides, having anything too fancy for herself would just be a waste, since there was a 50/50 chance they'd end up soaked with seawater.

“Besides, even if nobody believes in youkai, they'd still get scared as soon as you started using supernatural powers,” Ichirin said. “People are afraid of things like that.”

“I guess they'd probably start believing pretty fast if they saw you flying or something...”

“Uh-huh.” Ichirin glanced around thoughtfully. “Still, it's surprising. I know it's been a millennium and everything, but... the whole reason that Miss Hijiri got sealed away was because people didn't trust youkai. I could barely stay in one place for a week before I started following her... it's nice to see that people have learned to live in harmony after all this time.”

“Don't know if I'd go as far as 'live in harmony,'” Mamizou said, “but no, nobody's getting run out of town because somebody accused them of being a nukekubi, if that's what you mean. Now, I really hope you've got all this youkai talk out of your system before we have to go into public for real, or we're going to get some real interesting looks.”

Murasa pouted. “Hey, come on! It isn't like we're dumb kids or something. Besides, I'm not sure if you have room to talk, after just blurting out that we were sleeping together right in front of Miss Hijiri.”

“Eh, call it a favor.” Mamizou waved a hand dismissively. “Life's too short for all that pussyfootin' around. There's got to be some kind of Buddhist precept like that, isn't there?”

Ichirin thoughtfully tilted her head back. “Hmm... depending on how you want to interpret a few things...”

“Never mind. Should've known better than to ask a question like that with a monk around. Besides, I just remembered. I should do this before we get to the hotel.” Holding onto a handle with one hand, Mamizou fished in a pocket with the other. She produced a wad of cash, held between two fingertips, and offered it over. “Here.”

Ichirin stared at it. “What's that for?”

“In case we get separated or something. It's a big world out there, and two inexperienced kids—“

“I'm twelve hundred years old!” Murasa protested. “And that's if you don't even count when I was alive!”

Mamizou gave her a put-upon, patient sort of look, then continued as if nothing had happened. “—like you might not be able to handle yourselves. The outside world ain't much for spirituality these days, but they've got travel down pat. We're going to be going a hundred fifty kilometers, as the crow flies. Any of your years of experience teach you how to navigate that in an afternoon, cap'n?”

“I mean, no, but...”

“There you have it, then.” Since neither of them had taken the money, Mamizou leaned forward and tucked it into Ichirin's hand. “You end up lost, you just find some respectable authority figure and tell them you need to get to Suzurannosato station on the Chuo line. That's where we boarded at. The money should cover the trip and then some, and that'll get you within spittin' distance of Gensokyo.”

Ichirin frowned, puzzled, and leafed through the bills. “Did you really mean to give us this much, though? This would pay for a feast in Gensokyo.”

Murasa shot her a look of disappointment. Count on Ichirin to point out when she'd gotten _too much free money_.

“Call it inflation. Things're expensive these days. And it's an emergency fund, you hear? I'll be expecting the leftovers back when we get home.” Leaning back, Mamizou looked out the window, like she was trying to pretend that the conversation hadn't happened. “Now, shush up. If I end up having to explain to a human why you're shouting about being a thousand years old, that head monk of yours isn't going to hear the end of it.”

* * *

The hotel was a mystery of its own.

Mamizou had gotten two rooms—one for her, and one for them. “Not eager to hear what you two get up to at night,” she'd explained, and for once Murasa had zero inclination to argue with her. After giving them a quick overview of the devices in their room (“that's your TV, you'll figure out what that's for if you fiddle with it, this over here's the AC and you probably shouldn't touch it, this thing puts out water, and that one tells the time”) Mamizou had retired to her own room for the rest of the day, with a reminder that they'd be setting out again first thing in the morning.

They had not, in fact, figured out the TV.

“So, hm.” Ichirin pointed to the buttons on the television remote one by one as she reviewed their findings so far. “This one turns it on and off... these two make it show us different things... these two make it louder or quieter... this one makes it stop making noise... and _this_ one... makes the screen blue and then it says 'INPUT 2.'”

“Why the heck would somebody want that?”

“I really don't know.”

“Heeeeey, wait a second. If that little thing can talk to the big box all the way from over here...” Murasa leaned over and snatched the remote up, then pointed it up at one of the lights in the room. She hit the Power button a few times, then frowned, as the light ignored her commands. “... that doesn't make any sense! Why does the box listen to it, but the lights don't?”

“Maybe they speak different languages?”

“Figures.” With a sigh, Murasa tossed the remote back into Ichirin's lap, then flopped back on the bed. “If that thing could control whatever you pointed it at, I'd get in a good month's worth of pranks before Nue figured it out.”

“You guys really enjoy your feud, huh?”

“It's not a _feud_. It would just be funny, is all.” Murasa scooted over to half lean against Ichirin, watching the TV with idle interest. “Did you find anything interesting on there, though?”

“So far I've found a guy gossiping about the news, another one showing people how to cook food, a bunch of people talking about those, er, car thing...”

“Seems pretty pointless to me.”

“Hmm. So, obviously what we're seeing is just an illusion, right? It would be crazy if there were actually tiny people in there.”

“Obviously,” Murasa lied, shelving her plan to bust the screen open to see if she could get them out.

“Then I guess the idea is just to see these things. They're probably supposed to be informative or fun to watch.”

“Doesn't really seem like either one, so far.”

“Hmm... if you made a TV chant mantras, do you think it would be like a prayer wheel? Or even better than a prayer wheel, because it could actually say them.”

“Is there a button to do that? It could make a good present for Miss Hijiri.”

“Don't think so.”

“Darn.” Murasa slumped down, defeated, and glanced out the window. The sun had barely budged. It was still a few hours until sunset, and even then, it would be kind of early to go to sleep. “This is boring as heck.”

“Calm surroundings are the best situation to meditate in. Maybe you could try that?” Ichirin asked, in a prim impression of Byakuren. “... I mean, I agree, but there isn't a lot to do.”

“We could go out.”

“'Go out.'”

“Yeah! Think about it.” Murasa sprang up to standing and walked in front of the TV. “None of us have seen the outside world in hundreds of years, right? There's all kinds of stuff out here that we've never seen before. When we get back, everyone's going to want to know what it's like, and right now we barely even have anything to tell them. 'Well, I spent the whole trip in a train, which is a really fast box, and then a hotel room, which is a big box, where you can look at a TV, which is _just a little box_.'”

“We still have tomorrow.”

“Yeah, but that's just the ocean. I know all about the ocean. That's old hat.” Murasa crossed her arms, thinking, and a devious smile tugged at her lips. “Heyyyy, I know. Do you still have that money Mamizou gave you?”

“Murasa, we're not going to spend her money on things.”

“No, but think about it! That money is to cover if we ever get split up, right? As long as we stick close to her tomorrow, it's basically free money! All we have to do is be extra careful not to get lost or something later. And she didn't say we couldn't spend it, she said that she wanted whatever was _left_ when we get back to Gensokyo.”

“I really don't think that was her intention.”

“Me being bored is kind of an emergency.”

“I really don't think it's the right thing to do. And think about it for five seconds, okay? If we take her money, there's no way she won't tell Miss Hijiri. Even if we don't get in trouble, you'd get a week of lectures from her.”

“You're killing me, Ichi...”

“Murasa, come on.” Ichirin leaned forward and slipped her arms behind Murasa's neck, pulling her into a half-hug. “It would basically be stealing from Miss Mamizou. She's doing a lot to help us out already. To help _you_ out. If we betray that trust, we don't come out looking very good. It's kind of a jerk move.”

“... she really knew what she was doing when she gave the money to the responsible one, huh?”

“I don't think it was a coincidence, nope.”

“Eh, I guess you're right. I mean, I'm not going to fight you over it or anything.” With a heavy sigh, Murasa stepped back and slipped out of the embrace. … then grinned, lifting a hand and fanning out the stack of money. “Good thing for me that she gave you an outfit with big loose pockets then, huh?”

Ichirin's eyes went wide. She patted the front of her shirt, her face reddening. “_Seriously_?!”

“Yep! Don't worry, I'll be back in a few hours, tops!” Still grinning, Murasa shot Ichirin a quick wave, as her form shuddered into a green blur. With a low hum, she vanished from the room.

Being a phantom was really handy sometimes.

She reappeared in the first floor hallway, about ten meters away and with a floor and a wall between them. Enough of a head start that she was pretty confident in her escape, but close enough that she still needed to hurry in case Ichirin decided to give pursuit.

Fortunately, the floors had the same layout, so she knew where she was going. She headed down the hall at a brisk pace, turned a corner, and walked out into the dingy lobby. Not surprisingly, the only other person around was the man at the front desk, who barely looked up from his paperwork as she approached.

“Hey, good evening!” Murasa shot him a broad wave as she approached. “I'm wondering if you might be able to help me out. I'm looking to get a drink. Are there any bars nearby?”

He gave her a tired look. It was obvious that the paperwork had been an attempt to avoid this conversation. “There are a few bars nearby, miss. Is there anything particular that you're looking for?”

“Hmm, well, I'm not looking to spend too much. How about we keep it simple? What's the cheapest place around?”

“The cheapest,” he repeated after her.

“The cheapest. I don't need anything fancy. Just a place where I can get a few—“

“Murasa!” Ichirin's voice filled the lobby, coming from a nearby stairwell. She'd caught up faster than expected. She hurried over, but with the clerk right in front of them, hesitated, looking uncertain of what to say...

… and Murasa reached over, hooking an arm around her back. “... a place where _we_ can get a few drinks. Nothing fancy, you know?”

Ichirin made a little noise in the back of her throat, clearly torn between her desire to protest and not wanting to make a scene in front of this random stranger. The latter instinct won out, at least for the moment.

The man shot her a questioning look, then turned back to Murasa. “If you want the _cheapest_,” he seemed to take particular delight in that word, “then you want House RED. Out the door, then follow the road to the right for about ten minutes, turn left after the bridge. It will be on your right. A red sign, should be hard to miss.”

“Sounds perfect. Thanks for the help.”

“It's my pleasure,” he said, dipping a perfunctory bow. “I hope that you have an enjoyable evening.”

As she headed toward the door, Ichirin could only sigh in protest and hurry after her.

She stepped out into the evening air. Even here, everything felt subtly different than in Gensokyo. The distant murmur of cars underlaid every moment. Street lights were flickering on overhead, driving the night back into the alleys. There was something clearly unnatural flying through the sky, and honestly? She didn't know what the heck that was about, but sure, why not. She'd flown a boat, after all.

They were only about ten kilometers from the sea. She'd seen it in the distance out the train window. She could be there with an hour or two of walking. But, she could wait. They had a bar to visit, after all.

She could feel Ichirin's eyes on the back of her head. After walking in silence for a few seconds, she said, “Okay, look. Mamizou gave us a pile of money, right? We don't have to spend it all. We don't even have to spend most of it! Booze can't be that expensive out here, can it? So, we spend a few thousand yen maybe, enough to give us a good night to remember, but not, like, a _lot_. We get our night out, she probably won't even notice the money, and if she does, we can pay it back sooner or later. No harm done, right?”

“You really thought your rationalization through, huh?”

“I had a lot of time to think about it while I was laying on that bed waiting for something to happen. But hey, how about it? Will that let you keep your monk-ly conscious clear?”

“I _am_ pretty curious about what kind of drinks they have out here,” Ichirin admitted. “... two drinks apiece.”

“Three.”

“Okay, that's fair. If we're going to bend our morals a little, we should at least get a decent buzz out of it.”

“Deal!”

* * *

House RED wasn't much to look at from the outside.

It wasn't much to look at from the inside, either.

There wasn't much of it in general, really.

It was crammed into the a small building, alongside a corner store and what appeared to be a few apartments. The only indication of its presence was a sign that had once been red, but was now a dirty rust color thanks to a conspiracy of accumulated grime and faded paint. One of the steps up to the door was busted, sagging down around a crack straight through the middle. A dingy light lit the front.

Inside, It was narrow and cramped. One wall was monopolized by a shelf of bottles. The wall across from it was covered in faded paintings and amber lights. In between them were the bar, some stools, a handful of cramped tables, and the bar's patrons.

There were seven of them, and the youngest was maybe in his mid-forties. Within five seconds of stepping through the door, every eye in the room was staring at them.

Murasa was starting to get the feeling that the man at the hotel hadn't been entirely generous with his recommendation, but it was a bit late to back out now. Besides, she knew the scene in front of her. A bunch of tired old men from the neighborhood, having a drink after work and complaining about their wives. Not the liveliest scene, but as long as she could get a drink, she was happy.

She felt the bartender's questioning gaze on her as she strutted up to the counter. "Hey, good evening. Could really use a drink, you know what I mean? One of those days." She gave him a tired, put-upon sort of grin. He didn't return it. Moving on. "What's good here?"

It obviously wasn't a question he heard very often. "Well, uh, welcome. I just got in a bottle of 15-year Laphroaig. A few bottles of brown ale—"

“Hey, those're mine!” called one of the patrons near the back.

“Not until you pay for them, they aren't! … and all the usual mixed drinks, of course. For you ladies, maybe I could recommend something sweeter? I have a few bottles of wine in the back."

Murasa stared, floundering. Apart from the wine, she wasn't sure what any of those options were.

Ichirin, thankfully, was a bit faster. “I'm sure the, um, Luffry... Froig... will be fine. Two, please.” Somehow, she managed to look pretty confident as she mangled the decisively foreign word.

The bartender looked almost as surprised as Murasa felt. "... right. Right. Coming right up."

He hurried away to prepare the drinks, and Murasa leaned against the counter, taking in the surroundings. There still wasn't much to see, but that in and of itself was kind of interesting. Apart from the electric lights and a TV mumbling to itself in the corner, the place wouldn't look particularly out of place in Gensokyo. The variety of bottles behind the bar was better than she'd ever seen, though. So the outside world had stepped up its liquor game. That would definitely be of interest to the rest of the temple.

"Remember." Ichirin spoke under her breath. "Three drinks."

"Uh-huh."

The bartender slid their drinks across the counter, two low glasses with a light amber liquid in them. As soon as the smell hit her nose, she knew that she was dealing with whiskey. Not what she would have picked if she had her choice, but tolerable enough. Not all that easy to get in Gensokyo, at least. Maybe after this she'd pick one of the mysterious bottles on the wall at random and ask for whatever was in it.

She settled in, sipping at her drink and trying to look casual about the whole thing. This really wasn't the night out that she'd pictured. Kind of hard to make a celebration out of it when she barely felt like she could talk without drawing undue attention to themselves. She'd have to have a word with that hotel clerk when she got back.

She was just starting to consider paying and trying to look for a different bar when one of the patrons walked up, sliding into position next to them. "Ahh, don't mind this bunch," he slurred, shooting them a lopsided grin. "You'd think they hadn't seen pretty girls before."

"Ah, we're from out of town. Can't expect a warm welcome everywhere we go, it's fine." Murasa shot him a polite smile, hoping that he'd get satisfied and wandered off, and drained the rest of her drink.

"Thasso? Where you from?"

"Oh, er."

"Nagano," Ichirin answered for them, smoothly. "A small village, though. Not even on any maps."

"Gettin' out, seein' the world. Good fer you. Ichikawa!" He shot a broad wave toward the bartender. "Get over here n' give these young ladies a refill. Next round's on me."

Murasa started to stammer out an excuse, but the bartender dutifully slid over and pulled the cap off of the bottle. "They had the bad luck to get stuck with you, did they?"

"I'm a perfect gennleman." As soon as their glasses were refilled, he raised his own in a mock toast. "Don't say I never did anything for ya, huh?"

"Hey, it's a good start!" Murasa hefted her own glass and took a long sip of it.

“'n how'd you end up in a dump like this?”

“Hey, I've seen worse. We just asked the guy back at the hotel where to find a bar, though.”

“Oh? Still learnin' your way around the place? I could show ya a few spots. Lived around here my whole life. Could show you a pretty good night.”

As he spoke, Murasa felt a hand settle onto her butt. She stiffened up in surprise, but shot Ichirin a knowing smirk.

Ichirin returned it with a look of puzzlement, though. Her gaze drifted to the side, and she frowned.

"Sir," Ichirin said, polite but firm, "I'd appreciate it if you could get your hand off my girlfriend's butt."

Even then, it took a few seconds for Murasa to catch on to whose hand that was.

Oh. _Oh_. There weren't exactly a lot of people who would knowingly do that kind of thing to a phantom. Or a youkai, for that matter. She'd heard about this kind of thing happening to humans, but it had only ever been a theoretical issue as far as she was concerned... in retrospect, this really explained why he'd wanted to buy their drinks.

He leaned back, looking wounded and raising his hands in mock surrender. "Ah, hey, just tryin' to be friendly. Here, lemme buy you another drink. Can all be friends here, right?”

Now that Murasa had recovered from her initial surprise, her shock was fading away into annoyance. She didn't exactly appreciate the gesture, and she wasn't about to believe that he was just doing this to be nice. She probably could have extracted herself from the situation without making a scene—_probably_—but she'd seen him glance toward Ichirin too, and...

And other emotions snaked in alongside her outrage: anger, and cold, bitter hatred. They wrapped around her heart and numbed her thoughts, whispering to her. They called to her, like a long-lost relative begging her to come home. She could feel the sea in her veins, and it was hungry.

So why not feed it?

Somewhere, Murasa could hear Ichirin rebuffing the man's advances, but that world was falling away. She clawed for it, trying to hang on, but with every passing second it grew harder and harder to recall what any of it meant. All of those little details were irrelevant. Something deep inside had remembered that she was a streamlined machine with a single purpose. _Sink. Drown. Kill._ The fact that human language needed three words for that one concept just showed how useless it was to her.

Somewhere in there, Murasa was conscious enough to struggle, panicked. _No, no, nonono..._ It didn't do a thing. She felt her mouth spread in a crooked smile, and freezing saltwater drool down her chin. Her vision was tinged with green as her eyes burst into ghostly flames.

Everything went dark.

* * *

She...

Um. She was...

It was hard to remember.

She was...

That sentence was supposed to have an end. But right now, it didn't.

She _was_. That was all she could say for sure. It was too dark to see anything. There was endless water around, with nothing to feel but the subtle currents and crushing pressure. But here, improbably, she existed.

She'd been here before, she knew. Here and now, in this place. She was seeing a memory, maybe? It was hard to say. Her past was blurred together into one continuous smear. But, it felt important. There was something she was forgetting, something vital. She pushed past her own disinterest and dug for it, rooting for some clue of how she'd ended up here.

She'd been a small and weak thing, back then. Now. She'd been scared, and lonely. Even then, she hadn't been able to remember much. There had been a ship, and it had been very important to her. She'd fallen from it. She'd searched for it, tirelessly, for _months_, barely even realizing that she'd left her dead body behind on the ocean floor. And, finally, she had found one. Not her ship, but _a_ ship. She'd boarded it, but they'd all been so scared of her, making her feel even worse than she had when she was all alone. She tried to speak, but she couldn't quite remember how words worked. But, she knew, if she sank the ship and dragged them down into the depths...

Then, then they would understand. And she wouldn't be lonely anymore.

Her memories were unfolding now.

The first few sinkings had been like that. Nothing but a lonely girl, bewildered and panicked after her death, searching for something to make it better. In time, though, the fear had faded away. She'd felt something new on the currents: the whispers of humans warning each other about her. The MU-RA-SA. With a name, she had an identity. The legends had something to latch onto, and they made her into something more than a mere phantom. The stories had woven themselves around her like armor, but they'd demanded their dues.

The scared girl had been pushed aside to make room for more stories. With each sunken ship, she was pushed further below the surface. The MU-RA-SA lived only to kill, as a goal in and of itself.

She knew how this story was supposed to end. How it _had ended_. A shining golden ship, sailed by a beautiful monk, would arrive. She'd remember how to be a person again. She'd be saved.

It was going all wrong, though. That wasn't where it was heading. That wasn't where she was.

She was on the deck of a ship, already listing to the side as it took on water. She held a man above her head—one hand gripping his throat, the other pouring an endless stream of water into his mouth. He kicked and sputtered, but already, she could feel his strength fading. She didn't have to do this. She could throw him into the water, and he'd drown as surely as the others. But she'd evolved a long way from the scared girl she'd been before. She no longer even did it out of necessity. She enjoyed it.

The stories had made her into the sort of creature who enjoyed it.

She tightened her grip, watching the sailor's eyes roll back in his head, feeling his strained breath gurgling beneath her fingers. He'd understand soon. He'd join her in death, and know the peace of the sea floor. He—

* * *

Murasa's world exploded into a deafening crash.

A bottle smashed over her head. Its contents, stinking of alcohol, drenched her hair.

It was a good, solid hit, the kind that would have probably left a human concussed. To a phantom, it was nothing dangerous, but it was still a solid shock. She reeled backward. Her hand went slack, and the man that she'd been—apparently?—holding fell to the floor, landing in a sprawled heap. He yelped and scrambled to put as much space between them as he could, splashing in the frigid seawater on the floor.

Murasa wheezed and glanced around frantically, trying to piece together what the hell had just happened. The floor was ankle-deep in water. She was holding her ladle, and her clothes were drenched in seawater—and now, liquor. The bar's other patrons were backed up against the wall, staring at her in terror.

Ichirin, standing next to her, tossed a now-broken bottle aside. With her other hand, she grabbed Murasa's collar and tugged her closer. "The money!" she hissed.

"Muh...?" Her mind still felt numb. Words were hard.

Fortunately, Ichirin didn't seem inclined to wait. She patted down Murasa's clothes, found the wad of cash, and peeled off a few bills. ... then a few more bills. "Here!" she said, tossing them onto the bar. "I threw in some extra! Sorry for the mess!"

She tugged Murasa out the door and into the evening air.

* * *

Murasa stared at the ceiling of the hotel room.

Ichirin was sitting next to the window, barely three meters away. She was trying to hide it, but she was sneaking in a concerned glance every few seconds.

They'd spent the past hour in near-silence, with only a few mumbled comments. They'd fumbled through the controls in the shower, rinsing the booze and seawater off of her, giving her clothes a good soak and then laying them over the windowsill to dry. It left Murasa sitting on the bed in nothing but her underwear, but that wasn't anything Ichirin hadn't seen before.

Her state of dress wasn't really her main concern right now, anyway.

Five minutes passed. Ten minutes. She could count them all, because the outside world seemed obsessed with putting clocks everywhere.

They were heading into minute thirteen when Ichirin broke the silence. “No angry mob outside yet.” Her voice was quiet. “I don't think anybody's coming for us.”

“That's good.”

“Mmh.”

Murasa sighed. They were already talking. If she didn't say anything now, she'd just feel dumb. “That... wasn't me, you know? Not really.”

“I know.”

“I can't even remember what happened. That's the really screwed up part.”

“I think he'll be okay. You only had him for a few seconds before I, um... intervened.”

“That's not even it. Just...” Murasa sighed. “I can't even tell myself that I could have stopped if I wanted to. I just... I was _gone_. The other thing took over.”

“'The other thing'?”

“You know. What I was before Miss Hijiri came for me. I dunno. I'm probably kidding myself by acting like it's something else. It's definitely part of me, you know? I never managed to kick the ol' ship-sinking habit. All I can do is control it and kind of try to pick... less bad targets. It never went away. Maybe it just got tired of waiting for me to give up.”

“It might be disappointed, then. I'm willing to smash more things over your head, if that's what it takes. … sorry about that, by the way.”

“Think I had it coming.”

“Uh-huh. So you really couldn't hear me or anything?”

“What do you mean? Were you saying things?”

"I tried shouting your name first. And I hit you a few times when that didn't work. It... really was like you were somebody else.”

“Yeah. So. Uh. I'm not sure what kind of apology is appropriate for 'I blew off your advice and it ended with me trying to drown a guy,' but it definitely feels like the kind of thing I should apologize for. So. I'm sorry too."

“Apology accepted.” Ichirin slipped from her perch by the window and stepped over, slipping onto the bed and sliding into place behind Murasa, wrapping her arms around her. “Do you feel better now?”

"I guess. I mean, I felt pretty good back there, up until I started trying to murder a guy. So, you know. It kind of comes and goes. ... it's kind of scary, though. I've had all those nightmares when we're sleeping together. What if I did it to you next time? Or just that kind of thing in a place where there are more people around to see?"

"That hasn't happened, and we really don't know that it will. Let's try to focus on the present and deal with that stuff if it comes up."

"Next you're going to tell me to meditate."

"It might not hurt."

"Sure thing, Miss Hijiri."

"Shut up." Ichirin gave her a reproachful kiss on the back of her neck. "... we're going to the beach tomorrow, okay? You only need to hold out until then."

“What if that's exactly the wrong thing, though? What if I go full ship phantom and start drowning people left and right? We... we don't know what's causing this, or if we can do a damn thing about it. I'm sure not sure if I can. Maybe this is just how it's going to be from now on.”

"If you start sinking ships, I'll personally sail a big boat out and sacrifice it to calm you down. Again."

"Aw, that's sweet. Quick, is 'starboard' left or right?"

"Er. ... left...?"

"Wrong. Good luck with the sailing, you hopeless frickin' lubber."

"It's a romantic gesture, you ass." Ichirin retaliated with a sharp pinch to her hip.

“Heh.” Murasa gave a weak smile. It didn't last long. “... I mean it though, Ichi. Maybe the best thing for you would be to just drop me off on the beach tomorrow and leave me there. Wouldn't hold it against you or anything.”

“Murasa, stop it. Don't even joke about that.”

“It's not a joke! … okay, maybe half. I mean... it's barely been a week since this started, and I've already gone from flooding the bedroom to trying to murder someone. If it keeps going...”

Ichirin pushed herself up from the bed, settling into position on her knees. “Murasa.” She took Murasa's chin, and forced her to meet her gaze. “If I have to, I will kick your butt, drag you back to Gensokyo, and hold you down until Miss Hijiri talks sense into you. The worst you can accomplish is making it kind of difficult for me. I'm not abandoning you. We're going to fix this.”

“Stubborn.” It still rekindled her smile. “... but you know, now I'm kind of worried that all your solutions to this seem to involve beating me up.”

“Mmh...” Ichirin slid back down, settling into place against her, and lazily tugged the sheets up over them. “Then you'd better make sure I don't have to.”


	3. Chapter 3

They were almost surrounded by the sea. Murasa could feel it now.

They'd taken a long train ride down a peninsula, with tempting glimpses of the ocean every few minutes. It was only a few kilometers away on most sides. It was so close that she imagined she could feel the salt in the air.

“So _why_ do we have to walk so far?” she asked, for possibly the third time.

The road they were walking down was a narrow one; paved, but only just. One side was lined with farm fields. The other was sparse forest interrupted by the occasional house. If it weren't for the power lines running overhead, the entire scene would have barely looked out of place in Gensokyo.

“It's only a couple kilometers. Think of it as a morning walk,” Mamizou said. “Gets the blood moving.”

“That isn't actually an answer, you know.”

Mamizou shot her a don't-test-my-patience sort of look. “The beach we're going to isn't really a popular place. A bit out of the way. Since you kept talking like you might go crazy the second you saw some water, I figured you might prefer not to have an audience.”

“... oh. Yeah, that might be for the best.” Murasa gave her a hearty slap on the back. “That's Miss Mamizou, always thinking two steps ahead! I never should have doubted you, huh?”

“Uh-huh.” Mamizou did not sound particularly flattered. “Now, don't go running off the second it comes into sight, neither. I've got swimsuits for the both of you.”

“Oh,” Ichirin said. “I didn't even think about that.”

“Like the cap said, I'm always two steps ahead. Funny thing is, I came by your room last night to drop them off, and it seemed like you'd stepped out.”

“Oh, uh,” said Murasa, looking nervously to Ichirin.

“Um, about that,” Ichirin said, looking nervously to Murasa.

The blurted out their excuses at the same time: “I didn't feel good, so we went to bed early!” “We stepped out to get some fresh air!”

Mamizou sort of smirked, looking very satisfied with this outcome. “So I can see. I suppose all that napping and exercise is why the captain smells like a distillery too? Notoriously alcoholic, naps are.”

Murasa averted her gaze while she tried to cook up a better lie.

Ichirin beat her to it with, horrifyingly, the truth. “I'm sorry, Miss Mamizou. We did step out and get some drinks. It was irresponsible of us, and we'll repay you when we get back to Gensokyo.”

She was so _earnest_. It never ceased to amaze Murasa. Ichirin could say things and 100%, sincerely _mean_ them, without a trace of sarcasm or uncertainty or hesitance. This was probably why she stayed on Byakuren's good side so reliably. She might only break the rules a bit less than anybody else, but nobody could apologize like Ichirin Kumoi.

“Wasn't the money I was worried about, kiddo. Next time you should bring me along, is all. Haven't had a proper Black Russian in a decade. Since you didn't bring back a pitchfork-wielding mob, I'm guessing everything went okay?”

Ichirin took another breath, preparing herself for another _earnest_ explanation.

Murasa felt the need to act quickly if she wanted to get out of this in one piece. “HEY LOOK THERE'S THE OCEAN.”

Just in case, she took off down the road at a brisk jog.

She was exaggerating, but only a little. The road ended a short distance ahead of them, terminated by a sign announcing the beach and its rules. A narrow footpath wound down between the last few trees. Behind her, Mamizou shouted something, but Murasa wasn't going to be deterred at this point. She picked up her pace and resisted the urge to just teleport straight there. She could hear the surf now. She caught a glimpse of water through the foliage.

She bounded out into the open, on the beach proper.

It was her kind of place. Here, the soil tapered off to reveal pitted rocks beneath, sloping down to the water's edge. Isolated tidepools revealed little glimpses of sea life trapped on the land—she could sympathize. A few rounded chunks of rock poked up from the water's surface here and there, until the land finally gave up its pitiful attempts about twenty meters from shore. A few boats sailed in the distance. And looking straight ahead, she couldn't see a single sliver of land marring the horizon.

She was _here_.

And yet, in other ways, she wasn't.

This was still shallow, coastal water, after all. But she could feel them out there: the black, crushing depths. The thing she'd been gravitating toward all this time. Home.

“Murasa!” Ichirin jogged down into view behind her, waving an arm overhead. “I was kind of scared when you just went running off. Does everything feel okay?”

“Sorry. Yeah, it's fine! It's good. All good.”

Murasa didn't look away from the water, though. She could hear Ichirin's footsteps approach her, crunching along the rocky ground. “But?”

“... hey, I never said there was a 'but.'”

“Uh-huh. I don't believe you. You're staring at the water like you're hoping it will make the first move.”

Murasa sighed. No use trying to hide it, she supposed. “_But_, yeah, I think... I think there's something I need to do.” She was already stepping toward the water as she spoke. “I'll be back, okay? It might take a while, but I don't want you to think I went and abandoned you or something.”

“O... kay... Do you want to change into your swimsuit, or?”

Murasa shot her an apologetic smile. With a low, staticky hum, her body blurred into green fog, and she vanished. When she reappeared, ten meters from the shore, she was already feeling better.

* * *

She cut through the water like a fish.

Or, better yet: She cut through the water like herself. Fish were amateurs compared to a ship phantom. The water _obeyed_ her.

It was her element, in most senses of the word. Moving through it didn't require effort, any more than a rock had to exert itself to fall to the ground. The world had a place for her, and she was returning there.

The sun had long ago faded away above her. The water was frigid and black. If she were a mere human, she'd probably already be crushed beneath it. That was part of the appeal, really. It was hostile. It was a death sentence for any surface creature that had the hubris or misfortune to visit. It was an old friend, and while she couldn't tell if it was the one welcoming her back into its arms or vice versa, this was a reunion.

She stopped when she was deep enough. When it felt right. The same depth as the tract of ocean where she'd drowned, maybe. Relaxing, she floated in the water with nothing around her. No light, no sound, nothing touching her. There was only a monolithic darkness, and a chill like death.

* * *

Under a kilometer of water, Murasa reconnected with the sea.

The ocean currents tugged her along, unhurried and implacable. She didn't try to rush it to any conclusion. She couldn't see anything, but the sea was an extension of her, and she was an extension of it. Her surroundings revealed themselves to her as effortlessly as sensing her own body parts. Even this deep, she was hanging over an abyss. If the sea floor below her were land, she'd be grazing the bottoms of low-flying clouds. The scale was one thing she'd missed. She could never explain it to most people, what it felt like to have entire kilometers of _stuff_ above and below you. They could grasp the distances involved, sometimes, by comparing them to mountains. But nobody ever moved around inside mountains.

She could feel boats on the surface. Back in the day, this was how she'd sensed her prey. Now, she simply marveled at the scale. They were like fleas creeping across the skin of a sleeping giant. Ships had traveled these waters since prehistory, and all that accumulated human activity barely amounted to anything.

It was vast. It was her natural environment. It was uncaring. And it... wasn't what had called her here.

In retrospect, she felt kind of silly for ever believing that it might have been responsible. The sea calling on her to sink boats would be like a human taking a personal interest in the bacteria on their skin. It didn't care about humans or their tiny ships, and it certainly didn't demand that she drown old men in a bar. Something else was responsible. Something above the waves, or something deep inside herself.

So if not the sea... what had drawn her here?

Whatever it was, it still tugged at her mind, insistent, like a dog on a leash. It wasn't satisfied with guiding her to the sea. It wanted more. It whispered to her, urging her to sink ships, to drown the living, to drag it all down into the depths. It very much wanted to bring something to her attention.

Carefully, she followed its urging, searching for what it wanted to show her. It obliged. Her consciousness trailed behind it, crackling through the water like lightning. Like lightning, it sought the path of least resistance to her target. Soon, she felt it approaching.

In her time terrorizing the seas, she'd never paid much attention to her surroundings. She'd roamed when she felt like it, rested when she felt like it, and sank whatever ships she came across. She'd been driven by instinct and malice more than thought. But, she knew what she was feeling immediately. This was the area. This was where she'd died, and where she'd caused so many other deaths.

If some giant were to drain the water and inspect the ocean floor from above, they'd see her handiwork stretching for a hundred kilometers.

Okay, most of them had probably rotted away centuries ago, but she could _feel_ them. The spiritual marks didn't fade quite so quickly. This wasn't just a graveyard—it was a graveyard formed by her own hand. The wrecks numbered in the dozens. Hundreds, maybe. It felt like they'd be piled up in heaps, if the sea were any smaller.

She'd never really understood the magnitude of her sins before. She'd killed hundreds of sailors, at a bare minimum. If she could, she'd hunt them down one by one and apologize... but it was too late for that. They'd long since moved on to their next lives, or fallen into slumber as forgotten ghosts. There wasn't anything she could do to make amends.

Yet, some part of her was proud.

That guiding presence in her mind tugged her along, stoking that pride. She'd done what she was supposed to, it told her. She existed _for_ this. And now that she'd followed it this far, it only took another little push for it to exert its will over her.

It enveloped her like a blanket. By the time she realized that it was coming, it was too late to resist. She still struggled, but it didn't yield a centimeter. It knew her better than she knew herself. It told her who she was, after all. How could it not?

It blocked out her view. It cut out the things that had no place in her proper worldview. No more nagging memories of her life, no more curiosity about what lay beyond the ocean. Not even any guilt. She'd felt it, a long time ago. Back then, she'd struggled to escape, and failed.

Again, she was back in the past, trapped in her memories. She was a ship-sinking phantom. She'd fallen back into her role. Or, she was the role. Maybe there wasn't a difference.

Something pierced through the darkness above her.

There was a light up there, interrupting her rest. It illuminated her whole world, and in the darkness, she could make out tattered cloth trailing from her limbs. She rushed toward it. Fathoms of water fell behind her, and the light above became a distinct silhouette. It was a ship. A shining golden ship, with a monk standing at the prow.

Somewhere, in another life, this boat had meant salvation. She could still remember fragments of it. She'd been so glad... but that had been somebody else. Some other Murasa, who was now chained away inside of her. She could see it for what it truly was: A pitiful thing, piloted by a monk so full of her own arrogance that she thought she could offer salvation to the sea itself.

Now, it disgusted her.

She was delighted to get the chance to do the right thing. She should have done it a thousand years ago.

Summoning her ladle into her hand, Murasa got to work.

* * *

Ichirin was meditating.

Unlike some members of the temple, she took most of Byakuren's teachings to heart. She strove for universal compassion and insight into the transient nature of earthly phenomena, and she tried to live a simple lifestyle. … simple-ish. She only drank a few times per month and she earned _most_ of her spending money through legitimate means. By youkai standards, this was barely one step up from living in a cave on a diet of bread and water.

Also: Murasa had been gone for eight hours, and Mamizou had wandered off to get them some food. It wasn't like she had anything _else_ to occupy her time.

“Namu Amida Butsu... Namu Amida Butsu...”

She was empty of all thoughts, mindful only of her chant and the benevolence of Amitabha. And, if she was being honest, quite a bit of worry for Murasa.

“Namu Amida Butsu... Namu Amida Butsu...”

The waves were lapping at the shore in a steady rhythm. She matched the pace of her recitation to the sound.

“Namu Amida Butsu... Namu Amida Butsu...”

The sun was close to the horizon. The stars were coming out. It would be dark soon.

“Namu Amida Butsu... Namu Amida Butsu...”

In the distance, just short of the horizon, the sea was glowing white.

“Namu Amida—“ She stopped.

The sea was still glowing.

The glowing spot wasn't that big. If she hadn't been watching for Murasa's return, she probably wouldn't have even noticed it. But there it was, shining a pale white that couldn't have been a mere reflection. And, she could just barely make out, it was moving.

She stared for a few seconds as she debated what to do, but it wasn't like there were a lot of different approaches she could take. A quick glance around assured her that she was alone—not many people wanted to hang out on a rocky, rural beach around sunset in mid-autumn, it seemed.

On the other hand, the outside world had a ridiculous amount of people, and it was kind of hard to hide on the open sea. Better make this quick.

Springing forward, Ichirin launched herself into the air. It didn't seem like a good idea to go for altitude. Instead, she skimmed along the water's surface, so low that she could feel spray from the waves tickling at her legs. With any luck, nobody would spot her, and if they did... well, she was hundreds of meters from the shore. They wouldn't be able to identify her, at least. This was already less risky than that little display at the bar.

The spot of light was kilometers away from the shore. Far enough away that, even flying, it felt like she was barely crawling toward it. As she approached, some details become apparent—it was a roiling, amorphous cloud of murky white light, lurking just below the surface of the water. It was just dim enough that it wasn't blinding, but it still filled her entire world. She hovered over it, into the center, and the outside world blurred away into mist. The shoreline faded from view. Within seconds, she couldn't quite pick out what direction she'd come from.

This was supernatural. Obviously. A quick glance was enough to confirm that, but she could feel it too. There was a well of energy down there. The air was clammy in a way that leeched the heat from her skin. _Some_ kind of spirit was here, and considering that Murasa had come out this way, it didn't seem like a coincidence.

Before she could decide on a course of action, the light started moving.

It contracted inward, concentrating itself on a spot right below her. It grew more solid-looking as it did, going from a hazy cloud to something solid and opaque. The central bulk of the mass pushed up past the water's surface. It roiled as it rearranged itself, taking on a more defined shape.

Ichirin hovered backward, giving it a little room and keeping an eye on it. This was weird, but only by human standards. She'd left those behind when she'd befriended a murderous cloud. She still couldn't take her eyes off the thing, as the last few wisps drifted into place and gave it form.

It was, not surprisingly, Murasa.

More surprising was her appearance. Her skin had a mottled greyish-blue tinge, and it looked taut, like it had been stretched out across her bones. She was sort of slumped over in the air, with her head drooping down. Her eyes were obscured behind gouts of green fire, and she was wearing a ragged robe.

She hovered there, her arms outstretched, dripping water, with a ladle in her hands. Her breaths gurgled in her throat.

“JOIN ME,” moaned the sea, and Murasa was its mouthpiece.

Ichirin flinched. This wasn't her first time seeing Murasa lose control, but this wasn't just a brief lapse. It was something more. She stared out with aimless malice, with no hint of her usual self beneath it. It turned her stomach to see this _thing_ walk around in Murasa's skin, but Murasa still had to be somewhere in there. She had to be.

“Murasa! Murasa, listen, it's me. It's Ichirin.” She drifted forward and took one of Murasa's hands. It was cold. She kept her eyes on Murasa's face, desperately searching for any hint of recognition. There was nothing. Ichirin squeezed the hand. “I'm right here. Please, just calm down, okay?”

Murasa stared blankly back. She looked annoyed, if not outright angry. A phlegmy growl made its way up her throat. When it reached her mouth, seawater bubbled past her lips. She grinned through it, and with a low, buzzing hum, her figure shuddered side to side in a green blur. That hand thrummed in Ichirin's grip, then dissolved into mist and drifted through her fingers. Murasa vanished.

“JOIN ME IN DEATH.”

The words boomed from every direction at once. Ichirin whirled around, looking for the source, but Murasa was nowhere to be seen. A heavy fog was rising from the sea now. Everything beyond a few meters was obscured in mist and shifting shadows. She squinted at them, searching for any sign of movement. “Murasa, calm down! I know you're in there and you don't want to hurt me. You have to fight it. _Please_.”

She peered into the mist as she spoke, still hunting for movement.

She noticed it, out of the corner of her eye, a moment too late.

Murasa blasted out from the fog. Her arms were raised, swinging something in a long horizontal arc. Ichirin didn't get a good look at it until it was coming right at her.

An anchor slammed into her stomach with the force of an oni's punch.

Ichirin's body folded around a few hundred kilograms of metal, ripping a pained yelp from her throat. If she'd been a human, she would have died on impact. As a youkai, she was still too shocked to react as it continued on its arc and plummeted into the sea.

Her world dissolved in a deafening splash and a rush of bubbles. Everything was a blur of movement. The anchor was on top of her, her body half wrapped around it as it dragged her implacably down. By the time she got her bearings again, the surface was just visible as a distant, shimmering sheet of light.

Ichirin flailed, trying to shove the anchor away, but it was like being trapped under a boulder. Her body wanted to float, and the anchor very much wanted to push her down. The water was rushing past, and she had no idea how long she had or how deep the fall might take her. Drowning probably wouldn't kill a youkai, but she really didn't want to test that. She screamed, and a few precious bubbles of air escaped her lips, wobbling up toward the surface.

Only after a few _more_ seconds of sinking was she able to calm herself enough to take action. Wrapping both hands around one of the anchor's tips, she dragged herself toward it, trying to ignore the pained protests from the spot where it had smashed into her. She managed to haul herself maybe a third of the way toward freedom. It was getting noticeably darker, though. Trying not to picture the sea floor rushing up toward her, she grit her teeth and resumed struggling.

One final tug freed her. Even without the anchor, her body kept trying to continue with its downward momentum, balanced by her natural buoyancy. The sea whirled around her, and when she managed to come to a stop, she wasn't quite sure which way was up anymore. She looked around frantically, but everything was a dreary twilight grey.

Finally, a dot of more solid light caught her eye—the sun. Facing toward it, Ichirin folded her arms to her side and launched herself forward with flight, racing toward the surface. The trip felt excruciatingly long compared to her descent. Her lungs were burning, and it took a conscious force of effort to not gulp down seawater.

Not for the first time during this trip, she was really missing having Unzan around. Unzan could _juggle_ anchors. And had done so during a few particularly rowdy parties.

As soon as Ichirin breached the surface, she stopped. She coughed up seawater, sputtering and cold, and wheezed in deep, ragged breaths. Her chest still ached. Her wet hair was plastered to her face. With clumsy, numb fingers, she groped at it and peeled it aside.

Murasa was already hovering over her. She lingered for just a moment, staring down with detached annoyance. Then, her hand shot down and latched onto Ichirin's throat like a vice, using it as a handle to heft her from the water.

"Mu... Murasa." Ichirin's voice wheezed out through a quickly-constricting throat. She thrashed her legs, but she wasn't about to break free so easily. She landed a few light kicks on Murasa's stomach, but they didn't amount to much. “Please...”

Murasa held her other hand overhead. Her ladle appeared in it. "YOU WILL SINK."

Ichirin clamped her mouth shut, but that wasn't going to buy her much time. Struggling wasn't getting her anywhere. Even if she broke free, wrestling Murasa into submission would be a real pain without Unzan around. But the alternative was being dragged a thousand meters down and leaving Murasa as a mindless killer. She had to find something to change the situation.

She had just a bit of a reach advantage, though. When her hand managed to snag the front of Murasa's outfit, she didn't hesitate. Clenching the handful of rotting cloth, she yanked herself closer, ignoring the pain in her throat. An impulse struck her, and with no better plans lined up, she mashed her lips to Murasa's in a kiss.

They were cold. They tasted like musty death and seawater. But very few vengeful phantoms had a script for when somebody kissed them.

Murasa tightened her grip, struggling to shove Ichirin away. Ichirin only redoubled her efforts, wrapping her other arm around Murasa's back and clinging to her. Murasa's other hand clawed at her and her lungs were still screaming for air, but she held it for a few long seconds.

She broke the kiss, and managed to take a wheezing breath past that hand.

Murasa was sort of frozen in place. Beneath Ichirin's fingers, warmth started flowing back into her flesh. She looked confused, then shocked. The flame in her eyes sputtered, then died out, as her appearance started rapidly looking more human again. Her outside world outfit faded into existence beneath those robes, soaked and heavy.

Murasa looked bewildered. Her eyes were only slowly focusing, but they widened in shock as soon as she noticed her hand on Ichirin's throat. She loosened her grip and sort of stumbled backward, almost dropping Ichirin into the sea. “O-oh, I... I didn't...” With each passing second, she looked more horrified at the scene in front of her. “Are you okay?”

* * *

The flight back to the shore was a quiet one.

Ichirin seemed tense. That was never a good sign. It took a lot to upset Ichirin. Under all the water, she looked like she was trying not to cry.

“Ichi... I'm really sorry,” Murasa said, for something like the fifth time. “You know I wouldn't...”

She trailed off. There wasn't really any way to finish that sentence that didn't sound absurd. Even now, after it had actually happened.

Ichirin mumbled a noncommittal response. They were approaching the shore now, and she had to slow down, keeping her eyes out for any spectators. Fortunately, the already-sparse beach was nearly deserted at this time of day. A few hundred meters away, a couple was jogging in the other direction, and there were a few fishing boats still returning to port in the distance, but neither seemed inclined to pay them much attention.

As they reached land, Ichirin drifted lower, then eased Murasa to the ground. She hesitated for a moment, once she was standing under her own support. Then, she wrapped Murasa up in a full-body hug, burying her face in against the side of her neck.

Murasa stiffened up. This really hadn't been what she'd expecting. An argument, maybe.

“I thought you were... were gone, or...” Ichirin trailed off, pressing a few inelegant kisses to the side of her neck. She sniffled. “I don't know what I would have done.”

Murasa stared uncertainly down at her.”I should really be the one worrying about you. I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?”

“Nothing too bad...”

Murasa nodded, but she wasn't sure if she believed that.

Just like the night before, she couldn't remember a thing. She'd tried to drown Ichirin and she couldn't even remember it. It was just a blank spot in her memory. _She_, Minamitsu Murasa, hadn't even been aware of it. She might as well have not existed at that moment. There had only been Murasa, the whispered fear of sailors.

And whatever was calling her was still there, beckoning in the distance. It hadn't been satisfied by getting her to return to the ocean. It was waiting in the corners of her mind, ready to seep in again as soon as she lowered her guard.

“Uh. I.” Murasa coughed, a few final drops of seawater making their way out of her throat. She wiped her mouth with the back of a hand. “... I really wish there was something I could say to make this better, but this isn't really that kind of situation. What I did is... pretty unforgivable. But, for what it's worth... I'm sorry, Ichi.”

“Yeah, I know.” With a reluctant sigh, Ichirin stepped backward, releasing her insistent hug. “I'm not going to hold it against you or anything. I'm just glad you snapped out of it before, er...”

She trailed off. Murasa was pretty sure how that sentence ended, anyway. “Yeah. Me too.”

“I guess that means it didn't fix things though, huh?”

“Not really. I mean. Don't get me wrong, it was pretty nice at first. I've missed the ocean. Definitely brought back some not-so-nice memories, though. Do you ever have one of those nightmares, the ones where you're reliving some big moment, but it all goes all wrong?”

“Not really, I guess?”

Well. It was like that anyway.”

“That sounds pretty rough.”

“I guess. I dunno. It's going to sound all whiny and dumb if I talk about it.”

“Then I guess you don't have any choice to sound whiny and dumb, because we aren't leaving here until we talk through this.”

“You're torturing me, Ichi...” Murasa shambled a few meters up the beach, away from the water. Walking felt strange now, like she needed to regain her land legs after being at sea for a year. It sort of felt like she had been. As soon as she found a good spot, she flopped down onto her back. The ground was hard rocks, but for the moment, she was too desensitized to mind.

The first stars of the night were just beginning to peek out. They were a welcome sight, really. Without them, the sky would soon be nothing but endless darkness. She'd seen enough of that for one day.

“I keep seeing, like... my old life, when I'm like that. Before Miss Hijiri, you know? The thing is, uh. I'm not really like everyone else. You guys all _decided_ to follow Miss Hijiri. She had to haul me out of the ocean and bribe me with a free ship to get me to join her, and even then, what am I doing? No matter how much I meditate and stuff, I still end up sinking boats. Maybe she was just delaying the inevitable. Maybe it was always going to end up like this sooner or later.”

“You've held out for a millennium. I think if you were going to have a relapse, it would have happened by now.” Ichirin flopped down too, laying back and using Murasa's stomach as a pillow.

“You're getting me all wet, you know.”

“Gosh, I wonder why I'm soaked.”

“Okay, yeah, that's a fair point. I, uh. I think maybe... the sea wasn't really what was calling me in the first place. Something is telling me to go back to the sea, but it isn't the sea itself. If that makes sense? Like somebody's reaching into my brain and messing with all the switches, and it just happened to point me that way.”

“Something calling to you, eh?” Mamizou's voice came from behind them, further up the slope. “Well, that sounds like a pretty good lead.”

They both jolted in surprised, and scrambled to get out of the compromising position. Within seconds, they were both kneeling on the ground. “Oh, oh, hey!” Murasa said. “Welcome back.”

“Could say the same to you. I don't mean to interrupt this touching moment, but I got some food.” Mamizou crouched down, sitting a few overfilled plastic bags on the ground. “Look a bit soggier than I remember. Is that good or bad?" 

Murasa and Ichirin exchanged a glance. "Murasa lost control again," Ichirin said. "I was able to calm her down, though, and I don't think anybody else noticed."

"Yeah, more or less." If Ichirin didn't want to expound on the whole affair, then Murasa definitely didn't want to. "I'm not sure if coming back to the ocean even helped. It's kind of like... whatever this is, it wants me in the ocean, drowning people, but it isn't exactly a _goal_. Like, if it got me to attack some humans, I don't think it's going to pat itself on the back and call it a day. It's just there. And it'll still be there in a week, or a month, or whenever."

"Quite the conundrum." Mamizou tossed a few paper-wrapped bundles to the two of them. “Cap, I wasn't sure what you'd want on your burger, so I stuck to the regulars. If you want something else, you'll have to trade with that girl of yours.”

Ichirin tugged the paper of hers aside and peeked in. “What are these?”

“Meat, bread, a few other things. Consider it an authentic taste of outside world cuisine. I don't want to hear any complaining about the meat, either. I haven't had a burger in a dog's age, so this is no time to get vegetarian on me.”

“I'll meditate a few extra minutes tonight. It all evens out in the end.” Murasa took a hesitant bite of her own, and frowned thoughtfully as she evaluated it. “... huh.”

“'Huh' sounds about right, yeah.” After handing out drinks and little... paper buckets of little fried sticks of _something_, Mamizou settled down across from them. “Now then, assuming the plan isn't to return to Gensokyo and wait for you to go crazy, what next?"

"Huh?" Murasa stared at her. She hadn't thought about that. Waiting to go crazy, one way or another, had seemed like a pretty obvious course of action. Not a good one, but the only option available to her. "... where else would we go?"

"I was kind of thinking about that," Ichirin said, scooting her own food closer. "You said it feels like something is calling you, right? If it isn't the sea, then it has to be something pretty obvious, right? Do you think you could track it down?"

"Huh..." Murasa scanned the horizon, like she was expecting to find a glowing beacon waiting for her. It kind of felt like that, though. She could feel the tug toward the ocean. Somewhere further away, though, was the source of her urges. Like a hypnotist's voice, beamed right into her head from afar. It was elusive, not trying to draw her attention. But it was there.

"Maybe?" she answered.

"'Maybe' sounds a lot better than any other options we've got, now doesn't it?" Mamizou took a sip of her own soda, then pointed the straw toward Murasa. "Tomorrow morning, if you feel like you can pick out the direction, we'll take a train that way.”

* * *

By the time they got back to their room in tonight's hotel, the sun had set.

They were tired, and there wasn't much to talk about. Or: there was too much to talk about, and they needed a break from it. After spreading most of their clothes out to dry, they'd taken quick showers and climbed into bed.

Ichirin dozed off quickly.

Murasa didn't have the luxury.

She and the darkness were well-acquainted. When she relaxed, if she let her focus drift for a few seconds, she could feel the world fall away. The darkness became abyssal, the result of kilometers of water straining the sun from the air. The sound of air rushing out of a vent became the steady murmur of ocean currents. If she focused, she felt like she might even catch distant whalesong.

At some point, a small patch of bright light forced its way into her awareness. There was a clock on the room's dresser, some kind of glowing modern gadget. Its display read **12:14 AM.** It was enough to snap her out of her daze and drag her attention back to the present. She was almost proud of herself when she found that she hadn't done anything terrible while she'd been zoned out. Almost.

There was a window on the far side of the room. She slipped out of bed and padded over to it, throwing the curtains open. The street lights outside provided pale illumination, but any light was better than nothing.

She still didn't trust herself, though. Slipping back into position next to Ichirin, Murasa fixed her eyes on the alarm clock. As long as she didn't look away, it would keep her from drifting off again. Her anchor. Or lighthouse, maybe.

The clock ticked over to **12:15 AM.** It was going to be a long night.


	4. Chapter 4

“So why,” Murasa asked, leaning back to look up, “are outside world buildings so big?”

Mamizou shot her a glance. “First of all, I need you to stop saying things like 'outside world' out here where folks might hear you. Second, everyone wants to live in the big cities these days. At some point, you have to start building up, I suppose. If you think this is impressive, you ought to see Tokyo. They go a couple hundred meters tall, there.”

It wasn't a very satisfying answer. Some of the buildings around them were two or three time as tall as anything Murasa had ever seen in her life, and she really wasn't sure how a 200-meter building would compare. It definitely _sounded_ impressive. Some of these buildings were the size of a small village, though. She couldn't imagine what kind of work would require that much space. She also didn't suspect that Mamizou would be very happy if she slipped into one to investigate.

This city was named Shizuoka, apparently. They'd spent the whole morning on the train, chasing the source of Murasa's urges down the coastline. It was an inexact science, involving a few bad guesses and ten minutes of sitting in a train station as she tried to pick up a lost trail. Now, though, it felt like they were almost right on top of it.

Which was a problem, in some ways.

“Yeah, but it still seems like it would cause a lot more problems than it fixes. Like, how much water do you think this many people drink? It seems like they'd empty a whole river dry every day. And, I mean, it has to come out the _other_ end sometime, and I don't even want to think about that. Plus, they have to eat something, and I haven't seen a single farm around here. I really don't think they're all going out and fishing for dinner, but—“

“Murasa,” Ichirin said, gently, “you're babbling more than normal.”

“... yeah, I know. Uh. Having a distraction helps.”

Ichirin winced in sympathy. “On the upside, that probably means we're close, right?”

“I think so.” Murasa scanned the area. It had been surprisingly easy to pick out the right direction before, but this close, it was less clear. Ahead, the side street they were following intersected with a bigger one, and... “Left. I think we want to go left up here.”

This road was busier. Four lanes of cars rushed by, only adding further mysteries about the logistics of modern living. Some sort of machine flew past in the distance overhead, making a rhythmic sound like a drumbeat. She ignored all of it. She was on a mission now.

They walked about half a kilometer up that street. Under Mamizou's careful guidance, they crossed. They continued along one of the perpendicular streets, and turned to follow a wide avenue.

Finally, Murasa came to a stop. A building across the street tugged at her attention, and she scowled thoughtfully at it. It was big even by the city's standards—not all that tall, but as wide as any two or three other buildings combined. The front was all glass, more glass than probably existed in all of Gensokyo. “_That_ one.” She leveled a finger at it. “That's the bastard right there.”

Mamizou leaned forward, adjusting her glasses to squint at the sign along the front. “Shizuoka Museum of Maritime and Military History. Huh. I'll be.”

“'Museum'...” Ichirin stared at the sign too. “So this is somebody's collection of boats and weapons?”

“Something like that. These days, things like this are open to the public.”

“What kind of weirdo would just want to look at somebody's boat collection all day? … no offense, Murasa.”

“Out here, machines do all the worst work, they don't have to worry about a bad harvest ruining everything, and the medicine makes sure hardly anyone gets sick. Once all of that's taken care of, what else is there to do but goof off and enjoy yourself?”

“You make them sound like youkai...”

“Can we go in?” Murasa blurted out. She'd barely been paying attention to the conversation.

“Might cost a bit, but if you think that's the place...”

“That's the place. I'm sure of it.”

“... I don't get it, though.” Ichirin looked from Murasa's face to the building and back again. “Why would a museum be trying to make you drown people?”

“Well now.” Mamizou reached into a pocket, digging for her coin purse. “That's an awfully good question. Why don't we go find out?”

* * *

The Shizuoka Museum of Maritime and Military History was a marvel of modern architecture, eclipsing any other building she'd ever seen. The whole space was illuminated by massive glass panes in the ceiling. Walkways along the walls formed a second floor above them, and in the open space in the middle, exhibits were suspended by wires. Just inside the building, an anchor as tall as a building was on display, floating in the air as effortlessly as a paper lantern.

Normally, Murasa would be all about that. At the moment, she had other things on her mind. She only hesitated for long enough to get her bearings before she took off down the hall.

“Murasa, wait!” Ichirin shouted, somewhere behind her.

She kept going. Ichirin could catch up. Her pace sped up to a run, and her footsteps echoed from the walls. A museum employee gave her some stern warning, but she wasn't even paying attention.

Further in, the museum split into a few different wings. She didn't even need to read the signs to know which one she wanted. The sign, though, said, _ANCIENT MARITIME HISTORY OF JAPAN._

Here, the artifacts around her were more familiar. Pots, sailing paraphernalia, and log boats stood on display inside clear cases. The illustrations on the walls showed a landscape that was a lot less foreign to her. The ones that contained boats were modern illustrations, but she _knew_ those boats. Or ones like them. She could sail any one of them into a storm and come out unscathed.

At the end of the wing, it opened up into a larger display area.

A ship was in the center.

It sat atop a delicate-looking cradle of metal bars, with spotlights on the ceiling illuminating it from every angle. It looked like it had seen better days. Boards had been torn off or rotted away, leaving its frame peeking through holes in the hull. Most of the finer details—the railings along the edge, the spars, the door into the ship's interior—were completely missing. The mainmast was splintered a few meters above the deck, and the aft mast was just a stump. The deck had a gaping hole in the center, with a matching one in the bottom of the hull. It was a wreck, and there couldn't be much doubt about how it had sank.

She stood there, taking in the surreality of it all. A shipwreck, dragged from the seafloor to sit in the light. In its day, it had probably sailed a thousand kilometers from home; now, it was enclosed in a building, penned up as naturally as if it belonged there. Displays along the walls showed recreations of the ship when it was whole, or sketches of the crew's belongings, or grainy photos of its former resting place on the sea floor. A few dozen people were milling about, looking at them. Near the ship, a bored-looking security guard was keeping watch.

A banner overhead read: _SPECIAL EXHIBITION: THE TSUSHIMA STRAIT SHIP_.

Modern humans were really something.

In a daze, she shuffled over to the ship. Metal railings kept her a few meters away from it, and she suspected that the guard wouldn't appreciate it if she climbed over them. A larger display sat beneath the prow of the ship, three big panels covered in text and pictures. Her eyes scanned over them, but she wasn't exactly in the mood to give it a thorough read. Snippets jumped out at her, though: _... remarkably well-preserved... depth of 84 meters... eight-month excavation... seven years in preservation tanks..._ Some of it didn't mean much to her, but she understood enough.

And the ship... resonated with her. She could feel something within it. Not like whatever was calling to her. This was more like a sleeping limb coming awake, talking to the body again. A quick glance confirmed the guard was looking the other way. She leaned forward, reaching up toward the hull—

“Cap!” Ichirin's voice came from behind her. “You can't keep running off like that.”

—and stopped, pulling her hand back. Whatever connection she'd felt to the ship, it was a bit too tenuous to handle the interruption. “Sorry. Just... you know.” Murasa gestured up to the ship.

Ichirin jogged to a stop, looking up at it in mounting realization. “Oh. _Oh!_ That... that has to be one of yours, right?”

“Ehe. Um.”

It was uncomfortable, knowing that Ichirin was seeing this. A whole big room, commemorating a period of her existence that she had some decidedly mixed feelings about. The two were pretty open with each other, but she'd never talked much about her actual memories from before Byakuren. In Murasa's experience, most people had trouble sympathizing with years of intermittent murder.

“... yeah. I think this one is my fault.”

Ichirin nodded, looking over the display in front of the ship. “It says here that they think it sank because of an accident while moving cargo.”

“Moving cargo on the open sea, and dropping it so hard that it could make a hole like _that_? ... it was an anchor. See how the top hole and the bottom one don't quite line up? The ship was listing to the side by then. I started flooding it, smashed through the deck with an anchor...” She trailed off, studying the rest of the damage to it for a moment. “... if I had to guess, it hit the seafloor head-on, then tipped over and broke its mast.”

“You know your stuff.”

“Yeah.” Murasa sighed. “I have lots of experience.”

Ichirin winced. “Sorry. This probably isn't easy for you, huh?”

Murasa opened her mouth to respond, then clamped it shut again, as a family walked up to read the display. The two of them stepped aside, sitting in awkward silence as they waited to have a bit of privacy again. It only made things worse, really. Her thoughts were bottled up inside of her, accumulating by the second. As soon as the family was strolling off to the next display, she blurted them all out in one go.

“I mean... look, I've sunk a ship or thirty in my day. I don't feel _good_ about it. I try not to be like that anymore, but that doesn't really get rid of the fact that I did it in the first place. But then this? _This_? What are they even doing here?! This thing's a grave! It was down there for ages. The ship and the crew, they'd made their peace and moved on. And then a bunch of humans came along and dug it up because they wanted to gawk at it? I don't even know if I should feel sad or angry here. It's... it's like adding insult to injury, or something. They deserve better than this.”

Ichirin pulled her into a half-hug, and she went quiet with a huff. Just in time, too. It seemed like the humans hadn't overheard anything too telling, but some of them were still casting worried glances her way after the outburst. The guard shot her a warning look.

Ichirin nodded in sympathy, then paused. “I don't get it, though. If this boat was hauled up, why would that make you start feeling the need to drown people again?”

A soft clear of the throat announced that Mamizou had arrived. Murasa didn't dare to wonder how much she'd overheard. “Well,” Mamizou said, “if I might butt in, I reckon this might have something to do with it.”

Reluctantly, Murasa slipped out of Ichirin's arms to turn around.

In the back corner of the exhibit hall was a display that was a bit bigger and flashier than most of the others. A sign announced it to be _THE LEGEND OF THE MURASA_.

She stared at it. She groaned. She covered her face with a hand. “Are you _kidding_ me?”

“'fraid not.”

Ichirin stifled a soft, startled sort of laugh. “It looks just like you!”

“I'm not looking.”

“Come on, it isn't that bad.”

“I'm not looking!”

“You really should!”

Murasa grumbled. Under Ichirin's coaxing, she plodded over to the corner, keeping her gaze averted the whole time. Only after a few seconds did she get up the nerve to look at it.

Whoever had made the display had really put some time into it. It had multiple layers, stylized like ukiyo-e prints. In the foreground, the deck of a ship cut across the viewing area, with terrified sailors scrambling around. In the background, some kind of electronic screen added light and movement, a bobbing sea with bright flashes of forked lightning.

Between the two, dominating the image, a figure hovered in the air. Rotting robes were draped over pale, near-skeletal flesh. Thick black hair hid most of her face. Only one eye was revealed, trailing fire, and her mouth was spread open in a devilish cackle. Her whole body glowed with light as she held out a ladle, ready to send the ship to the ocean's floor.

The artist definitely had an eye for ghost stories. Murasa found herself a bit unnerved by it, and it was supposed to be _her_.

“... you have to admit, it isn't that far off,” Ichirin said, once she'd had time to digest it.

“No way. This thing's creepy as heck.”

“Have you ever looked in a mirror when you're like that?”

Mamizou leaned in, adjusting her glasses and squinting at the text below the picture. “'The Murasa is a type of funayurei, the vengeful phantoms of those who drown at sea. They were said to appear as lights beneath the surface of the water, dooming any ship who sailed over them. Upon targeting a vessel, the Murasa would ask for a ladle or bucket. Only by giving the spirit one with a hole in the bottom could the crew hope to escape. Murasa were commonly blamed for the disappearance of ships that sailed the southern Sea of Japan, such as this one. Nowadays, researchers believe that funayurei legends began as the conflation of several natural phenomena among superstitious sailors.' Hear that, cap? You're a 'conflation of natural phenomena.'”

“Yeah...” Murasa had barely been listening, really. She probably should have been more annoyed by being labeled a superstition. Or flattered that they had to make up a whole category of ghosts to explain away all of her sinkings. But... “This is it. This is the thing that was calling me. I think, at least. But I'm pretty sure.”

“This?” Ichirin looked at it with renewed scrutiny. “It's... paper and words. How could it do all of that?”

“I don't know! It just... this is it, okay? Trust me on this one, Ichi.”

“I'm not really doubting you. Just kind of confused.”

“Hmm...” Mamizou put her hands on her hips and studied it, too. “Seems pretty obvious, now that I think about it.”

“How's that?”

“Well, think of it this way. That picture's pretty spooky, wouldn't you say? The kind of thing that would scare the britches off any kid that saw it? Not a few adults too, if I had to guess.”

“Right,” Ichirin said, then blinked in surprise. “_Oh..._ okay.”

Murasa looked between them. “What? 'Oh' what?”

“Say someone looks over this exhibit, and they walk away spooked by the thought of the big, scary Murasa. That's fear. _Belief._ Better yet, it's happening right here, barely a stone's throw away from a hefty artifact that's tied to you, too. If they'd done this all deliberate-like, we might call it a shrine.” Mamizou paused to let that sink in. “And a museum this size, maybe fifteen hundred people come through a day. If one in ten spends a bit thinking about you after they see this thing... well, that's a hundred fifty worshipers a day. Probably not much real faith, but I figure it would add up, don't you?”

“A... shrine? It's just paper and words!”

“You can do a lot with paper and words these days.”

Murasa flushed with annoyance, but she couldn't deny that Mamizou was right. Even now, she could feel it poking at her brain, trying to bend it to her will. Not this image, itself, but the belief it had inspired. Whoever had drawn the picture definitely hadn't realized it, but they'd made the new mold that humanity was going to try squeezing her into. She stared at the drawing-Murasa. Its single eye stared back, blank and glowing. A thousand years of good behavior, undone by one good drawing and an attentive audience.

“Well. At least that's simple enough to deal with.” Murasa rolled her shoulders and prepared to summon up her anchor, eyeing the thing and trying to judge the best way to smash it. “On the count of three, get ready to run, alri—“

Mamizou sat a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Easy there. This isn't all bad news.”

“How is _this_ not bad news?!”

“Well, it's nothing but belief, it seems like. Enough to push you to act like this again, maybe, making you a bit more inclined to activities of the boat-sinking variety, but still just belief. We're pretty safe from that kind of thing in Gensokyo, remember. The real ironic thing is that if we'd just stayed home, you'd probably still just be having the occasional bad dream.”

“Even then... this feels wrong. Them digging up old legends and bringing them back like this, I mean. Kind of feels like I should have some say in the matter, doesn't it?”

“Give it time. Something like this will blow over before too awful long.” Mamizou gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze before pulling her hand back. “Now then, should probably get going before we stir up a fuss here. But cap, let me tell you: by this time tomorrow, we'll be back in Gensokyo and none of this will matter anymore.”

As they left, Murasa cast one last uneasy gaze to the ship. Something there brushed against her mind, and then, went silent.

* * *

Another hotel room.

Murasa had only been in the outside world for three days, and the hotel rooms were already starting to blend together. They definitely all seemed to be cut from the same mold.

She stared at the ceiling, thinking.

Mamizou was right. Go back to Gensokyo, spend some time away from humans and the ocean, wait for all of this to blow over. In a month or so, tops, it wouldn't be anything except a story to tell at drinking parties. _Okay, so, has everyone heard about that time I tried to kill Ichirin? **Super** awkward._ Mamizou had even bought the train tickets on the way back to the hotel. In barely twelve hours, they'd be on their way back to Gensokyo.

The thought didn't particularly reassure her.

“This sucks,” she announced.

“Sorry,” Ichirin said, from her spot next to the window. It seemed like she'd finally given up on mastering the secrets of television. “That has to feel pretty weird.”

Murasa made a noncommittal noise and stared outside for a few seconds. Still annoyed. And restless. “... let's go get some fresh air.”

She rolled off the bed and leaned in over the window. The latch that was like nothing she'd seen before, and it took a few seconds to finagle it open. The constant hum of cars outside poured in, like the sound of a distant storm. The sun had already set, but the streets were illuminated by stark lighting. Seemed like this place never slept.

“Cap, come on, we can't just jump out the—“

Ichirin's protest was cut off as Murasa did, in fact, jump out the window.

She plummeted until she was clear of the building, then slowed her fall until she could fly straight up. She ascended until she was above the rooftops, hovering high enough to see the hints of the city's layout. One big grid of buildings stretching out away from her, with only a few big dark spots in the distance.

After a moment's thought, she picked out the tallest nearby building and launched herself straight toward it. She still wasn't used to the scale of buildings in the outside world. The thing was just big enough that it felt like she only slowly creeping up to it. But, slowly, she approached the roof and came in for a landing. There wasn't much to see up here—a flat expanse serviced by a single doorway, studded by a few vents and protrusions whose purposes she couldn't begin to guess. It wasn't _that_ tall, but it was still a story or two higher than any of the other buildings around. Just high enough that there was a good, stiff breeze. That, she was okay with. It reminded of her of the sea.

She'd just settled in, with her feet dangling over the edge, when Ichirin came to a landing behind her. “I guess you gave up on keeping a low profile, huh?”

“Eh, it's nighttime. How many humans do you think are looking at the sky _and_ have sharp enough eyes to spot a flying girl in the dark?”

“I guess you'd be pretty safe even if they did see you. Those flying machines they have don't seem to come this low.” Ichirin hopped over the squat wall at the building's edge, taking a seat on it next to Murasa. “You can still hear it, can't you?”

“… yeah.” She hadn't realized just how much sway it still held over her, even. She'd taken a seat facing the museum, she realized. Knowing that it was a mere echo of human belief inspired by a few kilograms of cardboard and electronics didn't make it any easier to resist. “It's just bugging me. This whole thing is messed up.”

“It seems pretty messed up, yeah. Do you want to talk about it?”

“I dunno. Like, here's the part that's really screwing with me. I can meditate all I want, and decide that I want to be a good person from now on or whatever, but if I spent enough time outside Gensokyo, I'd probably end up drowning someone anyhow. All because of them and their dumb ghost stories. They get to decide what youkai are like, and that's what they go for? It's like they _want_ to be eaten and stuff.”

“Yeah...” Her hands on the wall for support, Ichirin leaned forward, jutting out over the city below. “I used to feel pretty weird about that, too. I only ever became a youkai because people were scared of me. I didn't really get a say in the matter. By the time I realized it was happening, it was kind of a done deal.”

"Did it ever make you want to eat people or anything?"

"Not really. I think it might have made me a little more violent? But that could just be all the youkai exterminators I had to fight."

"You're like the least violent person I know!"

"You'd be surprised! Most humans don't fight very much."

“So they want you to beat them up, and they want me to drown them. No offense, but humans are frickin' weird.”

"None taken. It's been about fifteen hundred years. Besides, you used to be one too.”

“That's different! I don't even remember being alive.”

“If you say so.”

Murasa stuck her tongue out at Ichirin, then stared toward the museum again. “And. Uh. Jeez. I was trying not to think about this too much, but... one of those signs back there said there were probably fourteen people on that ship. When it sank, I mean. And, okay, my memories are fuzzy, and it isn't like I kept count or anything. But, let's say I sank a ship once a month or so, and I was at it for five years before Miss Hijiri came by and stopped me. That would make it, uh...”

“Sixty ships.”

“And at fourteen people each...”

Ichirin leaned in and gave her a peck on the cheek. “You know what I think, cap?”

“What?”

“You're better than all those stories about you. If you were just some mindless evil spirit, you wouldn't care about this stuff. Sorry to be the one to tell you, but you might be a good person.”

“I don't know if the people I drowned are like 'oh, okay, as long as she feels guilty about it, I guess drowning isn't so bad. Sure is comfy down here in the sea mud.' And I can't really blame them, you know? Kinda weird that I'm the one she saved. She could have had, like... seven hundred ghosts who never did anything wrong, really.”

Ichirin paused, thoughtful. “Eight hundred and forty, actually.”

“Eh. Point stands.”

Murasa sighed, and the conversation trickled to a stop. It was dark enough that she wasn't sure which building silhouette was the museum anymore, but she could still feel that exhibit, the makeshift shrine, calling to her. Even if it was manageable once they got back to Gensokyo, it would still be there. Humans would still be visiting it and walking away with new beliefs, about a horrible, ship-wrecking monster named Murasa. The boat, the grave of fourteen sailors, would still be beached and cut off from the rest they'd earned.

Murasa was standing up before she even realized it. "... I'm going to go see it again."

"Huh?" Ichirin followed Murasa's gaze toward the distant building. "It's pretty late. I really doubt they'll let you in. And I'm definitely not giving you money for a ticket."

"Hey, I'm a phantom. When have walls ever kept me out from somewhere?" Murasa hopped backward into the open air, hovering in place. "... I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Murasa, you really can't—"

Ichirin's voice was drowned out by the wind. Murasa called back, "And don't wait up!"

* * *

In the dark, the museum felt cavernous. Dim lights along the walls offered only a little illumination, and thin moonlight seeped in through the skylights. The hanging displays cast skeletal shadows in what little light there was.

Murasa was accustomed to the dark. If anything, this just made her more comfortable.

She spotted the lights of a few distant guards, patrolling with some sort of hand-held lanterns. They were easy enough for her to avoid, but they still made her pace herself, drifting between spots of cover, as silently as a ghost. Even then, it only took a few minutes to reach her goal.

The exhibit hall looked a bit less grandiose in the dark.

All of the electronic screens were off. The signs and displays were just standing there, lonely and isolated, without any humans flocking around them. No lights shined down on the ship. There was no sound beyond the distant footsteps of a guard.

Already, she felt a bit more at home.

Her first stop was the _THE LEGEND OF THE MURASA_ display. Without power, it wasn't much to look at. Just a blank screen, with a few sailors and a ghost stuck to its front. She could even make out a little wire running down to the cardboard Murasa. Now that it wasn't glowing, she could see that the eye was a little bulb, like the ones lighting all the buildings they'd been in. A few kilograms of electronics and some cardboard, and it was apparently enough to jump-start her legend for a new age. Humans really were something.

She still kind of wanted to just smash the display. Might not solve her issues, but it would be pretty satisfying. Maybe later. It seemed like it would be pretty noisy, and she wasn't done here.

She made her way over to the ship. Now, there was nobody to stop her from slipping past the railings and walking right up to it. She rested her hand on the bow, and found that it didn't even feel right. It was hard and smooth, sealed with wax or resin or something. It still didn't change the thing's core nature. Beneath all the efforts they'd taken to preserve it, it was still the ship she'd sank.

"Fourteen people, huh...?"

It didn't answer, but she could feel it. An _ache_. After a thousand years on the sea floor, the ship was barely less of a ghost than she was. It was definitely old enough to be a spirit. Maybe not a tsukumogami, but...

Its presence hummed inside her. There was _something_ there, a spiritual essence if nothing else. The humans were probably to blame for that, too. Unlike her, it hadn't willingly chosen to leave the ocean. It had been dragged out so they could piece its corpse back together and admire it. And now, it was a part of the new mythology they'd accidentally built around her. They were tied together in one big messy knot.

Her, the ship, and maybe fourteen or so sailors. With any luck, they'd reincarnated by now. Still.

"Sorry. I mean, I can't say it was an accident or anything, but being dead is complicated. You probably understand by now. I hope."

She sighed, but her melancholy was giving away to outrage again. It was like this whole thing had been set up as one big mockery of her. It somehow managed to offend the parts of her that wanted to avoid hurting people, _and_ her sensibilities as a ship phantom. The two sides didn't agree on much, but they agreed on this: the living had no business meddling with the drowned dead.

She still felt the need to make some amends.

She was outraged by this whole ghoulish display.

She didn't want this whole exhibit to be here, telling the whole world that 'Murasa' was the name of a ruthless monster.

And this was no longer any ordinary ship. It was neatly tied into her legend, almost as much as her ladle or anchor. It would definitely listen to her, so...

She had an idea.

It was a really stupid one. But really, after the last few days, having any idea about how to fix this was a pretty nice improvement.

She still took a few seconds to think about it. There wouldn't exactly be any going back after she tried this, fail or succeed. But, screw it. At worst, she'd look like an idiot and spook a few humans.

Murasa took a deep breath, put her fingers to her lips, and whistled. It broke the silence like a hammer through glass, echoing down the museum's halls. Just in case that was too subtle, though, she cupped her hands and bellowed, "Hey! Could I get some help over here?"

The shout had barely even stopped echoing from the halls before she heard the response. Guards all throughout the building scrambled into action, looking for the source of the noise.

She was still waiting for a minute or two. Just as she was starting to wonder if she should have included directions, one of those lights came into view. It flashed across the room, scanning back and forth before it settled on her. "Miss, the museum is closed," the guard said, firm but polite. Apparently it wasn't unheard of for people to end up lingering after closing time. "Please step away from the exhibit and follow me to the exit."

“Hey, no, you've got it all wrong. I need a favor from you.”

“You're trespassing on private property.” The guard sounded rather less polite this time. "Step away from the exhibit, and—"

And then he was cut off, as Murasa flickered across the room in a blur of green energy and hefted him by his shirt collar. "Sorry, buddy, but I don't have time for this. So, _let's see..._"

She kicked off the ground, hovering slowly up into the air and lifting him with her. Cautiously, she opened herself up, tapping into those urges that had been hovering at the back of her mind. Ghostly power surged through her body like ice water. Flame boiled from her eyes. Seawater dripped from her, drizzling down to start a puddle on the floor. "DO I HAVE YOUR ATTENTION?" Her voice rumbled through the room like an avalanche.

He yelped, his feet pedaling in the open air. He dipped a few frantic nods.

"GOOD."

She could feel it now, here in the epicenter of the whole affair. That belief flowed into her, both empowering her and trying to mold her into its image. _Fill his lungs with water. Break his neck; an accident at sea. Drag him down. Drag him down. Drown. Kill. **Sink.**_ It would be so easy...

Her hand twitched. Her ladle appeared in it... and she grit her teeth, restraining herself. She couldn't hold herself back for long. That other part of her wasn't happy about being denied. Better make this quick. "I... AM..." She stammered to a stop. Speaking was hard. Or, choosing her words was hard. If she'd only relax and give herself over to her urges, they'd come so naturally.

"I AM," she repeated herself, more firmly, hefting him higher. "MURASA."

He made a strangled whimpering noise deep in his throat. "O-okay!!"

“I AM TAKING THIS BOAT. RETURNING IT TO WHERE IT BELONGS. TELL THE HUMANS...” She trailed off. She hadn't planned this part out. “THE DEAD OF THE SEA ARE UNDER MY PROTECTION. YOU SHOULD LEAVE THEM ALONE. IF NOT...”

She held his gaze. He, though, was suddenly much more focused on her other hand, as an anchor appeared in it. She hefted it overhead with casual ease, then let go. It smacked into the floor with a deafening _CLANG_ and the sound of splintering tiles.

Seemed like the message had gotten across. The guard's eyes widened. "I understand...! Please, please, just don't kill me, I—"

"TELL THEM. TELL ALL OF THEM. YOU ARE MY WITNESS."

The guard started stammering his reply, a half-apology, half-agreement, but she barely heard it. Her finger clenched in, threatening to squeeze around her throat. His fear was delicious. _Drag him down. Drag him down..._ He was a fragile little thing that could die to a few drops of water in the wrong place. If she could just relax and indulge herself...

Her hand started rising, ladle at the ready, and she only restrained herself at the last moment. She couldn't trust herself any further. She dropped the guard to the floor, and he sprawled out in a graceless landing. The important thing was that he was out of reach.

She could hear more hurried footsteps approaching, with beams of light flickering back and forth down the hall. Better make this quick. In a flicker of light, she vanished again.

When she reappeared, her feet thudded down on the preserved wood of the ship's deck.

“Alright,” she muttered. “This had better work, or I'm going to look pretty dumb.”

She glanced around, getting her bearings. She knew the ship, but big chunks of its anatomy had been lost in the wreck, and others had been replaced with makeshift replicas. The ship, though, had no doubts about itself. A feeling crept through her mind, like a nudge from its spirit. She followed it back to the stern, where the rudder was waiting, suspended above the nonexistent waterline. A few seconds of work was enough to heft it into position, lowering it beneath the ship. It settled into place with a satisfying _thump_.

The sound shivered through the entire structure. Like the ship was stirring in its sleep. Good.

“Work with me, girl. What else do we need to do to get you seaworthy?”

There were no lines to cast off. There wasn't an anchor to worry about. Really, none of the physical aspects mattered, she thought. The important part was going through the actions. She wasn't sailing any normal ship. She was sailing a _ghost_ ship.

Something drew her attention, a little tug toward a spot in the air. She got a sense of where to put her hand. Reaching out, she tentatively grasped the air, and found the flickering ghost of a line in her hand. The halyard. Bracing herself, she gave it a good tug

The light flickered up along the nonexistent rope. The air above her shimmered. Dim light drifted out like ripples in a pond, knitting itself into a broad, thin surface. She hauled again, and it spread, growing more solid-looking, and again. As it reached the peak, it came into full view. A spectral sail hung in the air, already being stirred by an unseen breeze. A groan ran through the ship, as it was called to action for the first time in a millennium.

“Easy, easy. Take your time, but we don't have all night, either.”

Okay, so she'd raised the mainsail before the mizzen. Not ideal, but she was working with invisible and spectral parts here. She could be forgiven a breach of protocol or two. Hurrying to the back, she searched for another halyard, and was lucky enough to snatch it on her first try. Once the second sail was hanging in the air, she quickly tied it off and moved forward.

The ship creaked and shuddered, straining against the cradle that was holding it in place. Ideally, there was still a lot to do, but it didn't seem inclined to wait. She'd have to worry about the details once they were under way.

She was more confident now. She snatched at the air, and her hand found the mainsheet, which only flickered into existence as she touched it. Easing it back, she searched for the wind... then paused as the sail billowed above her, pulled taut by a breeze that only it could sense. “Alright.” She paused, focusing as she tied the line off. “Let's see what you've got.”

A deeper groan ran through the ship. The ship's spirit awoke, and the deck flickered with ghostly energy.

It was remembering its purpose now. Green fog billowed out of the hull, knitting over the breaches. It boiled up from shattered stumps, as ghostly masts sprang up to support the equally-ghostly sails. It seeped along the deck and laid down railings. Bit by bit, the ship reassembled itself. It was whole again, if only in spirit. And it had consented to one final trip.

With a deafening moan, the ship eased itself up from its metal cradle. It began gliding forward through the air, as naturally as if it were in water. The museum floor drifted by below.

“Hah! Hah!” Murasa gave the shimmering mainmast a hearty slap. “There you go!”

She didn't have time to exult in her victory, though. She scurried around the deck, tying lines and making adjustments. As she passed by the railing, she leaned over for a look off the side. A few more guards had shown up, standing down there in a stunned group, with their feeble little lights shining up at the flying ship. She grinned, shot them a mock salute, and got back to work.

She hurried back to the stern again and grabbed the till, tugging it into place and holding it firm. The ship responded, adjusting its heading until it was pointed straight down the hall. Looking out over the deck, she could swear that her eye noticed a few figures. If they were there at all, they were so dim that they were barely more than distortions in the air. Maybe fourteen or so, she liked to think. “No room for layabouts on this ship, lads. You want to make yourselves useful, tighten the sheets and see to the parrels. And hop to it! We're heading home.”

The museums walls were moving by more quickly as she built up speed. The sails were still taut, pushed along by favorable winds. As the ship traveled, it grew brighter and hazier. The shattered hull, the relic that the museum had captured, faded away. A fully intact ghost ship cut through the air in unworldly silence.

When it reached the wall of the building, it slipped through effortlessly, leaving only a few fading tendrils of fog. The open sea awaited.


	5. Chapter 5

Murasa was in darkness.

She'd seen a lot of that lately, really. It wasn't that surprising.

Around her, the sea was calm. It was pretty much always calm this deep, but still. Subtle currents whispered to her in a hushed tone. Somewhere in the distance, a whale called.

None of that cared about her, she knew. The sea was as indifferent as ever. It would be just as happy to crush humans beneath the waves as to let them travel on its surface. But it was calm. It felt more... congruent. Something had been out of place, and now it was back where it belonged.

She stretched out and let herself drift in the dark. You didn't notice the chill after a while, and the noises faded into the background. It was peaceful—nothing to see, or hear, or feel. This was probably what being dead was like. The non-ghostly kind of dead, but a comfortable version of it. The one where there was nothing left to worry about, because there was no 'you' to do the worrying. She felt like she might stumble onto Nirvana if she analyzed the feeling for a while. But, she wasn't in any rush. It would be a real shame to skip over Sukhavati anyway.

There wasn't any way to tell how long she'd been floating there. There was nothing to judge the time against, and she didn't exactly have a heartbeat anymore. She wasn't concerned anyway.

But, call it 'a while.'

After a while, something changed about the darkness. The slightest fraction of light trickled down to her, reminding her that, contrary to the direct evidence, she still existed.

She shifted around and sought it out.

It was as far away as the stars, and about as dim. But, in the absolute darkness around her, even that was almost blinding. She almost turned away and returned to her rest, but... she recognized that glow. It was important, somehow. With a little push, Murasa took off toward it.

The water didn't resist. They were in concordance. It parted ahead of her without a hint of turbulence, and closed in behind her just as smoothly. The thing was impossibly far away, but she'd get there eventually. It was her natural place, and now she was returning.

In time, it came into view. A ship floated on the surface, glowing and radiant. It was like a new sun, lighting the sea. She paused, admiring it, but there would be plenty of time for that later. She knew this ship, after all. It had hauled her out of the water centuries ago, and she'd been living on it ever since.

Drifting closer, she reached toward it. Her hand breached the water's surface and grasped for purchase, until she found a rope ladder. She hauled herself up, and took her first breath of fresh air in ages. As the water cleared from her vision, she saw a silhouette against the sky above her, a hand stretching down to help her up...

And awoke, sputtering, with seawater in her mouth.

Murasa gagged and coughed, belching out a mouthful of freezing water.

Ichirin, who was now pressed up against her beneath the covers, gave a groggy yelp and scrambled out of the bed.

“Murasa, what the heck?! This is—“ Ichirin looked down at herself, bewildered. It wasn't a lot of water, really, but it had still left her hair half-soaked and a big wet spot down the front of her clothes. “... a lot better than waking up to a flooded room, I guess.”

"Yeah." Murasa coughed a few more times, getting the last of the water out. "Sorry."

Now that she didn't feel like she was drowning, she could get a better look at her surroundings. They were still in the same hotel room. Sunlight was coming in the window, but not much.

She felt like she'd run a marathon while violently hungover, then been kept awake for three days. She felt like her whole body had been dehydrated, then been reassembled after crumbling into powder. She felt like all of her _parts_ had been removed, leaving only a floppy skin sack that couldn't do much except ache.

With her arms shaking from the effort, she rolled herself over and half-buried her face in the pillow. “Feel like 'm gonna die.”

“I don't think ghosts can do that.”

“Don't care.” She coughed a few more times, getting the last of the water out of her throat. Now that she was a bit more awake, something was poking at her attention. She ground the heel of a hand against her forehead as she tried to jump-start her brain. “What, uh. What happened last night?”

“I was really hoping you could tell me that. … you really don't remember anything?”

“Mmngh. Think we talked on top of a building?”

“And then you said you were going to the museum and flew off. After an hour or so, I gave up on waiting for you and came back here to get some sleep. … then I woke up in the middle of the night and there you were, in bed, like nothing had happened. And, er. It's evening now. You've pretty much been in a coma for about fourteen hours. I guess you had a pretty big night?”

Murasa scrunched her face up as she considered that question. It wasn't an easy answer. Her memories were one long blur that transitioned into something like dreams. She could remember going to the museum now, and... hijacking a ship from it... but after that... uh...

“I either did something really good, or something really dumb. Maybe a bit of both?”

“That sounds about right.”

“I mean. At least I didn't wake up and find out I'm halfway through drowning you. After the past few days, that's a pretty good start.” Ugh. Talking was hard. She groaned and squirmed around, trying to get comfortable, but it only helped so much. That feeling of being _drained_ was sticking with her. “Think I kinda blew my load, though.”

“Ew.”

“You know what I mean. Pushed myself way too hard. Used up all my...” She waved a hand in a vague gesture. Even that felt like an effort. “Ghost juice.”

“'Ghost juice' is still pretty gross.” Ichirin seemed convinced that Murasa wasn't about to explode into seawater again any time soon. She moved over and slipped into bed, carefully avoiding the big damp spot. Sidling up against Murasa, she draped an arm over her. “So was it worth it?”

“Think so. It isn't really that often that you get to try fixing stuff you messed up a thousand years ago, you know?”

“Mmhm.” Ichirin tugged the covers up over them. “That's good.”

Murasa gave a little sigh of affirmation, settling in. Ichirin's presence helped with the aches, at least a bit. It didn't change the fact that she was exhausted. This was, she was beginning to sense, not going to be a long conversation.

"... hey, Ichi?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for, uh, sticking around, and putting up with all this. If you hadn't done everything the other day, and kept me sane... I dunno. I might still be out there drowning people and stuff. I think I'm gonna be okay now."

"We've been together for like three years. It would be weirder if I didn't." Ichirin threw in a reproachful pinch to Murasa's side, but was getting too lazy to make it count. "Now shut up and get some sleep. I'll carry you back to Gensokyo if I have to, but I'd rather not."

Murasa mumbled something in response, and even she wasn't quite sure what it was. She melted into the bed with a sigh. As exhausted as she was, she barely lasted five minutes before she was asleep.

She dreamed of a shining golden ship, illuminating the dark.

* * *

The next morning, after another ten hours of sleep, she felt... less bad. She felt like a stuffed animal that had gotten all its stuffing removed and been turned inside-out. It was a step up, at least. A small step.

The improvement was countered by the fact that she had to actually get out of bed. Their hotel was only a few blocks from the train station, but it felt like a strenuous hike. She was already dreading the walk back up the mountain. At this rate, they'd have to drag her back to the temple.

She grit her teeth and pushed herself until they were inside the train station. Then, she slumped down on the first bench she saw.

Ichirin looked down at her with barely-concealed worry. “You still look pretty rough. Are you sure you're up for this?”

Murasa groaned and leaned back, resting her head against the back of the bench. “I'm dying, Ichi. I'm frickin' dying.”

“That's what you said last night, too.”

“_Still_ dying.”

“Quite a prolonged death scene you have going here.” Mamizou looked down at her with rather less pity. “Never would have thought a phantom could get sick, and yet here we are.”

“Yeah, uh.” Murasa glanced aside, uneasy. She hadn't told Mamizou about anything that happened. Of course she hadn't. Ichirin could handle that kind of thing, but she didn't trust Mamizou not to throttle her. “Pretty weird, huh?”

“Yeah, real mysterious.” Mamizou didn't bother trying to hide her skepticism.

It seemed like a good time to change the subject. “Anyway! How long until the train thing gets here?”

“Still another ten minutes or so. Wanted to leave some extra time in case you went and collapsed on us or something.”

“Mmh. Great. That's ten minutes I can nap.”

With a little sigh, Murasa closed her eyes and tried to get comfy. Not that it was easy. The bench wasn't too comfortable, and the train station was loud. She was never going to get used to the sounds of the outside world. Everywhere you went, there was a dull roar of vehicles, distant machinery, and way, way too many people. Here, it seemed like they were all twice as loud. Or maybe that was just her headache.

And to make it worse, a cry of “Mami!?” pierced the air.

With a groan, she cracked one eyelid. It wasn't hard to find the source of the shout. A girl was barreling toward them, only slowed down by the bag over her shoulder. A _human_ girl, to all appearances. She was wearing glasses, and her brown hair was gathered up in pigtails, bouncing with every step.

She sort of skidded to a stop in front of the bench, staring up at Mamizou in bewilderment.

Mamizou looked almost as surprised. “Sumi? What're you doing here?”

“Shouldn't I be the one asking that?! It's a lot weirder to find youkai out here!”

“Prefer it if you eased off on the Y-word. Wouldn't want to give folks the wrong impression.”

“Sorry. But really, what the heck are you doing out here?” The girl glanced to Ichirin. “_And_ you? Did you just decide to have a group trip, or what?”

“It's only the three of us,” Ichirin said. “Oh, speaking of which... Cap, I don't think you've met Sumireko, have you?”

There was no way around it. This was a sitting-up-straight sort of occasion. Begrudgingly, Murasa pried her body off of the bench and sat upright, taking her first good look at the girl. Actually, she looked pretty familiar. It was hard to place, though. Brown hair, glasses...

“Er.” Murasa sneaked a peek at Mamizou, double checking something before she dared to voice her suspicions. “Oh. Oh! Jeez. I didn't even know you _had_ a kid, Mamizou.”

Mamizou blinked in surprise. “Eh?”

“What?” Sumireko sort of sputtered the word out, and her face quickly started reddening. “No! No! It isn't like—I don't even look like her! … do I?”

A strangled snicker escaped Ichirin's lips before she managed to silence herself. “Well, maybe a little, now that you mention it.”

“We're completely different! I'm pure human! Anyway, I just know these two from, er, you know.” Sumireko looked to Murasa, then past her, glancing around like she was wary of eavesdroppers. “The _G-place_.”

“Oh. Okay.” Murasa was a bit relieved, really. She wasn't sure if she was ready for a world with two Mamizous in it.

“Seeing three of you out here is still pretty weird. … ohhh, wait, I get it! I bet we're all here for the same thing! You came to check out the ghost ship, right?”

Murasa felt Mamizou and Ichirin both shoot thoughtful glances her way. She stiffened up in her seat, too surprised to even try to hide her shock. All she could do was roll with it. “Ghost ship, huh? First I've heard of it. Mind filling me in? That sounds right up my alley.”

“What, really? Um, hold on.” Sumireko dug in her bag and pulled out a little... rectangle thing, then started fidgeting with it. It sucked up all of her attention for a few seconds, but finally, she turned it around to show off what she was looking at.

The thing was displaying a picture. It showed a modern city from the air at night. The roads and buildings were mostly visible as constellations of light. There was a river running down the middle, visible only as a swatch of darkness. Sailing down it was the unmistakable outline of a sailboat... but a sailboat that was glowing green and trailing a heavy green fog behind it.

Murasa was almost certain that Ichirin and Mamizou were looking at her much more intently now. She didn't dare to look up and find out. “O-oh! Neat.”

Sumireko pulled the thing back, grinning. “See? The news says it has to be bogus, but I know the real deal when I see it. Nothing this interesting ever happens out here in the real world, so I'd be missing out if I didn't come to investigate. I mean, it's been a day and a half since it appeared, but that just means I have some detective work ahead of me.”

“Yeah, real interesting. Funny thing...” Mamizou's gaze was still fixated on Murasa's face. “This is the first I'm hearing of it, too.”

“_And_, get this. The same night that boat showed up, this old historic boat went missing from a museum right by the same river. Lots of places have talked about that, but they're still treating it like some boring theft. That's just a dumb cover story for the masses, but they're eating it up. The truth has to be a lot more interesting.”

Murasa got the feeling that she was only going to give Mamizou more ammo for later if this conversation continued, but she had to hear more. “Yeah? What really happened, then?”

Sumireko grinned. She'd obviously been hoping for that question. “There are, like, eighty theories going around on Occult Twitter, but most of them are pretty dumb 'oh yeah that ghost showed up because Venus was ascending in the constellation of Libra' stuff. Amateurs like that just make the rest of us look bad. But on this one imageboard, somebody leaked a transcript of the police interview with one of the security guards at that museum. _He_ says the boat was stolen by a ghost. And everything he said lines up! The ghost said she was taking the boat back to the ocean, and the boat made it out to the ocean before people lost track of it. Plus, nobody's seen it since. Pretty suspicious, right? If there's this big glowing sailboat around, _somebody_ would have noticed it by now. Seriously, it's obvious that the ghost stole it. That's just Occam's Razor.”

“Gosh,” Mamizou said flatly. “Can't hardly imagine what a boat-hijacking ghost would look like.”

If Sumireko noticed the sarcasm, she didn't show it. She sort of seemed lost in her own little world now, wrapped up in occult theories. “I mean, the guy didn't really say, but he got its name, and that checks out too. It's some old ghost from folk tales or something, and a _boat-sinking_ ghost. According to him, this, uh, Murasa ghost or whatever is out to trying to steal back stuff that humans took from the ocean or whatever. That seems like it fits all the evidence, but there's this other guy in the thread who thinks she's some kind of psychopomp. It's not even based on anything! He just likes the idea, and he won't shut up about it… so, yeah! I had to come down here to investigate, and I'm definitely going to prove him wrong.”

That finally distracted Mamizou from scrutinizing Murasa's expression. “Are you telling me you came all this way to win an internet argument?”

“Yeah, an internet argument about _ghosts_. This isn't some dumb shipping flame war or something, sheesh.”

Mamizou opened her mouth for a retort, but she was drowned out by the approaching clatter of a train. It only grew louder as it slid to a stop in the station, its brakes hissing and making conversation impossible for the next few seconds. When it finally came to a stop and started discharging passengers, she instead said, “Looks like our ride's here, girls.”

“Oh.” Sumireko looked a bit crestfallen. “You're leaving?”

“'fraid so.”

“You could catch another train this afternoon, you know. Even if this thing is news to you, I bet you'd be a huge help in the investigation! I could pay for lunch, maybe? Er. Somewhere cheap. I don't really have a lot of spending money since—“

“Nuh-uh.” Just to punctuate that, Murasa hefted herself up from the bench, giving a groan of effort. She'd almost managed to get comfortable for a few minutes, but now her aches were back with a vengeance. Figured. “No offense or anything. Just, I think I have about five hours before I pass out, and I'd really like to try getting home first.”

“Oh. Okay, yeah, I wouldn't want to keep you up.”

“And it sounds like we've got lots to talk about on the train, too,” Mamizou said, in a voice that dripped with threats of pointed questions to come.

“I guess I can still run my findings past you later. I have two super-easy classes this term. If I nap through them, that's basically two extra hours a day that I can hang out over there!”

“Dunno if I'd brag about that.” Mamizou took a step toward the train and waved the other two forward. “C'mon, girls. If we wait too long, all the good seats will be taken. Chat with you later, Sumi.”

“Sure! Have a nice ride!”

Ichirin shot Sumireko a wave and started off toward the train, trailing along behind Mamizou. Murasa lingered for a moment, stretching and trying to work some of the ache out of her muscles before she consigned herself to a long train ride. It gave Sumireko an opening to add, “Oh yeah, I don't think I caught your name?”

“Eh? Oh, uh.”

The thought of lying didn't even occur to her. After hearing Sumireko's take on the whole affair, Murasa was feeling... just a little more proud of herself. She could have told the truth, and that would have been enough. This occasion, though, felt like it merited the _whole_ truth.

She reached down inside herself, slipping beneath the surface of her own conscious. This was a real stupid risk. She knew that much. But, it had been a pretty rough couple of days. If she didn't break up the tedium, she'd go crazy.

The thing she was looking for was still there, of course. It was a part of her. She was starting to suspect that it always would be. It had been lurking this whole time, waiting for another chance to exert its will over the world. This time, she let it out. She opened the door just a crack and let the smallest fragment of it escape. As always, it was eager to. Dark urges bubbled up and dyed her thoughts. Her hand clenched, searching for a ladle, and she forced it open again. It was as hungry as ever, but for the moment, she could hold it off.

Water dripped from her body. Flame boiled from her eyes. Her flesh was growing cold and pallid, and she was ever-so-slightly translucent.

She leaned in over the suddenly-terrified Sumireko, pulled her in by the collar, and rumbled, “**MU. RA. SA.**”

And with that done, she ripped it from her mind and shoved it back down, deep inside. The foreign presence barely even resisted this time. Maybe it was just as exhausted as she was. Maybe she'd gotten a bit more experienced at controlling it. Maybe it felt just a little more psychopomp-y? She had no idea what the word meant, but it _sounded_ neat.

Sure, her clothes were soggy with seawater now, but she suddenly felt better than she had all day. All trip, even. She gave the still-stunned Sumireko a hearty slap on the back. “Looking forward to hearing what this investigation turns up, though. Drop by and fill me in sometime, alright?”

Sumireko stammered out some response, but she didn't hear it. She was already moving, making her way toward the train and home.


End file.
